


The Trouble with Truth Serum

by Cleo2010



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: All kinds of sex, Anal Sex, Kinks, M/M, Mind Games, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Scars, Truth Serum
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2012-02-19
Updated: 2013-03-08
Packaged: 2017-10-31 10:50:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 36,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/343230
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cleo2010/pseuds/Cleo2010
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Originally written for the kink meme which requested...</p><p> </p><p>  <em>During an experiment, Sherlock accidentally develops a truth serum. He doesn't realize that that's what it is until after he injected it into his blood stream.</em></p><p> </p><p>John and Sherlock's friendship takes a sexual turn as hidden truths, old scars and secret desires are revealed. Games are played, power is fought for and the trust between them lies on a percarious balance. Is there something more to Sherlock's desires and could John be the one to heal old wounds? </p><p>It is mostly sex though. As we'll be going through a bunch of kinks I'll include any special one in the notes so you can look to see if there's something you like in each chapter. Otherwise the tag list is going to get ridiculously long!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“I’m back.” John calls as he enters the kitchen carrying their takeaway. Sherlock sits at the table playing with his mobile phone. “They had a cancelled order so we got two extra naan’s, a pashwari and a garlic one...” John takes in Sherlock’s stiff posture and concentrated expression. “You alright?” 

Sherlock sits and nods. “No.” He pulls an infuriated face. “Bugger.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I made a miscalculation. I was trying to create an atomisable spray to enhance and speed up my interrogations. It was supposed to make suspects and witnesses more pliable, more suggestible.”

“And what went wrong?”

“It makes you tell the truth.” 

“Oh.” John smiles. “And you tested it on yourself?”

“I accidently spilled some. I was going to test it on you.” Sherlock stands and roars with frustration at his own unwilling forthrightness before storming into the living room. 

John follows grinning. “You weren’t going to tell me, were you?”

“No.” Sherlock grimaces and looks pleadingly at him. “You’re a doctor, help me. I can’t face anymore questions until it wears off. I’ve done enough-” Sherlock dives head first into the sofa, arse in the air to muffle the rest of his sentence. 

John can’t quite believe his luck. Sherlock unable to lie. He thought two free naan breads made for a good night. He takes pity on the man talking into a cushion though not before taking a moment to admire the view of Sherlock’s impossibly shapely arse before speaking. “Sherlock, I’ll help ok?”

His head emerges sheepishly from the sofa cushion and he turns his body to sit down properly. “Thank you.”

“After you tell me what you did.” John's positively gleeful as he sits down beside him. Sherlock scowls. “Come on, how often do I get this opportunity?”

“Rarely. Damn, I answer rhetorical questions too it seems. You shouldn’t take advantage of me John, I thought better of you.”

“You were going to drug me without my knowledge; I think I’m being quite fair actually. So come on, what did you do?”

Sherlock grimaces and can’t argue, he must tell the truth. “Lestrade called to tell me that they found the juggler trying to board the Eurostar. He asked how I was and I replied... sexually frustrated and craving oral sex.”

John makes little attempt to smother his giggles although Sherlock openly admitting he quite fancied a blow job was having a rapid effect on certain parts of his anatomy. 

“He asked if I was high to which I replied no, then I hung up. It was then that I realised that I’d messed about with the formula too much. I’ll never live this down.”

“Well at least he didn’t offer to help you out, that might have been awkward.”

“At least Mummy didn’t call.”

They both snigger. 

“So what’s the plan?” John asks.

“You could give me oral sex.” Sherlock’s eyes widen and he looks away. “Sorry. Please be careful how you phrase questions.”

John senses an opportunity that he doesn’t want to pass up. Sherlock looks completely vulnerable but John's sure that they want the same thing, at least tonight. John fidgets and licks his lips, “You want _me,_ specifically, to suck you off?”

“Yes.” Sherlock slams his fist on the arm rest. “This isn’t fun you know and you could phrase it less crudely.” 

“I could but I already have my answer.” John presses on Sherlock’s shoulders and forces him to recline backwards before he climbs down to the floor, spreading Sherlock’s legs and settling between them. “Have you thought about me doing this before?” John asks as he rubs his hands slowly up Sherlock's thighs toward his belt buckle.

“Yes.” Sherlock bites his mouth, John can see he’s out of control but he can also see how much he wants John to help satisfy him. His pride isn’t great enough to override the blood rushing to his groin. “Have you?”

“No. Never.” John smiles and flaunts his ability to lie brazenly. He undoes Sherlock’s belt and sets to work on the button and clasp of his trousers.

“Liar.”

“At least I can lie.” John slips his hand inside Sherlock’s trousers and finds Sherlock’s hardening cock inside his ridiculously expensive underwear. Sherlock sighs and pushes down his trousers like they don’t have much time. “Horny bastard. How long have you been craving this?”

“Three days.”

“Three days and you just could have asked me.”

“I didn’t know you were partial to male genitalia.”

“I am.” John helps him with his underwear, chucking them on the nearby armchair. He can't help but admire the sight of Sherlock spread, his erection still building, his shirt rucked up against his flat stomach. He strokes along the pair of pale thighs until he’s threading his fingers through the neatly trimmed patch of hair around Sherlock’s well proportioned cock. He’s got an opportunity here; he doesn’t want to waste it. “What do you like?” He says as he gently wraps a hand around Sherlock and begins to stroke. He wants to hear him say everything, he wants to show how good he can be. He wants to impress him.

“Fellatio but I think you already gathered that.” Sherlock half smiles. John not going to let it be that easy and gives his balls an experimental lick. _“Oh, that’s... new.”_

John, feeling encouraged, licks again. He lifts one with his tongue and bringing it into his mouth while his hand continues languidly stroking. Sherlock's almost fully hard, filling John's hand quite nicely. He loves doing such a delicate and intimate act, the way a testicle feels on his tongue, the foreign texture and taste. It takes trust to let someone do this, John may be on his knees but he feels the power. “Yes, I like tha –oh.” John sucks gently and hums while Sherlock squirms and grabs at John’s hair. John rolls it and lets it dance on his tongue and Sherlock gasps and groans, it's obvious he's never felt anything like this before. “Other one too, other one too.”

John releases one and huffs a half laugh. “The spray hasn’t made you less bossy.” 

“More.” He says while applying enough pressure to John’s head for him to get the message. John doesn't mind in the slightest, he likes that Sherlock is still trying to be in charge, he likes the forcefulness. He repeats the licking action again and teases Sherlock’s other ball into his mouth, this time flicking his tongue wherever it could reach and listening to Sherlock mutter his encouragement. “Yes, like that, oh, lovely, lovely.” He tips his head back and forth along the sofa, struggling to stay still. "Oh, more, keep going, don't stop."

John sucks and tongues Sherlock’s sack, one hand on Sherlock's hip keeping him steady and another stroking him slow enough to keep him teetering. He can't keep going John’s trousers are starting to feel painfully tight so stops for a moment to undo his jeans.

“Why are you stopping? Don't stop!”

“Tight jeans, big cock.”

“How big?”

“I’m not obliged to tell the truth.” He grins. “Tell me something you like, what do you want me to do?”

John saw that flash of vulnerability before Sherlock couldn’t hold back his answer. “I like... to be called names.” Sherlock looks unhappy but John was enthralled, he hadn’t expected that. 

He frees his own erection and leaves it untouched while he focuses on Sherlock. He kneels back up and tenderly kisses the base of Sherlock’s penis. He’ll make this good for him, he can do this, he’ll just have to think. “You mean like slut?” John kisses open mouthed on his shaft and sucks gently. John doesn’t take his eyes off Sherlock’s.

“Yes.” Sherlock sighs, staring back, almost fearful of what he might reveal next.

“You’d like me to call you dirty?” John kisses and sucks again, higher this time. The heat is incredible, John's mouth must feel cold in comparison.

“Yes.” He answers again throat tight, John has no idea if he's willing but he sounds happy enough, he’ll give Sherlock what he wants, this is just for fun.

“What about a tart? You _are_ a tart the way you swan about, teasing me, looking like you do. I watch you coming out the shower in next to nothing. Dirty little cock tease.” John brushes his tongue against his fraenulum and fondles Sherlock’s still damp balls.

“Oh...” Sherlock squirms both away and towards John, not knowing how to deal with the sensations. “Please, call me that.” He whispers.

“What about whore? Would you like me to call you a filthy little whore for getting all worked up and needy, for wanting me to get down on my knees and suck you off?” John takes Sherlock’s head into his mouth and kisses and sucks again, lapping at the taste.

“Oh, god yes, yes, yes, yes.” 

John releases him. “Spread your legs wider little tart. Good. Ease forward.” He helps Sherlock forward so his arse hangs over the edge slightly. John will never forget this sight, what John wants to do to him.

“What are you- oh.” John sucks him hard back in, taking him deep and bobbing slowly up and down. “Yes, good.” Sherlock's muttering something under his breath that John can’t hear. 

“What are you saying?”

“Please don’t gah,” He tries to force John’s head back down but has to answer. “That I’d be a good little slut for you, that I’d be your plaything, god John, stop asking me bloody questions!”

“Suck.” John offers his fingers. “Can’t talk if your mouth is full.” 

Sherlock grabs his wrist with a mix of anger and need and sucks hard on those fingers. They were indecently wide and stunning to see in Sherlock's mouth. He’ll make Sherlock his plaything and more if that’s what Sherlock most deeply desires. John returns his attention to Sherlock’s hardness, sucking and tonguing his length. Sherlock moans around his fingers when John sucks a little harder.

Eventually, he slides his fingers free from Sherlock’s mouth, “You ok with me fingering you?”

“Yes but you really must find a nicer way of phrasing things.”

“How about, do mind if I stick my fingers up your greedy, tight little hole, slut?”

Sherlock shudders, his eyes taking on a new shade of lust and ardour. “Yes, oh.” 

“Good.” John smirks and licks the length of Sherlock before sliding back down around him. He pushes Sherlock’s thighs a little wider apart and slips two fingers along his hole. 

“Ah!” Sherlock jerks upwards into John’s mouth but he was expecting Sherlock to react. John circles him, letting him relax he's still far too tense to take even one finger. He keeps a steady pace with his mouth, letting Sherlock rest his hand on the back of his head. He puts his free hand over Sherlock’s encouraging him to guide him and grip his hair. John wants something he enjoys and Sherlock takes note as he grabs him tight. 

Soon the tight pucker under John’s fingers begins to flutter and unclench. Sherlock's making seemingly pleased noises too so John applies gentle pressure until the tip of his finger slips inside. John groans at the act but he wants more.

John slips his hand down to his own dick, just holding and groaning again at how sensitive he is. He pushes his finger further inside Sherlock and takes his mouth off Sherlock's cock. “Such a tight hole, I love to fuck it one day, fuck you hard until you’re begging me Sherlock, I could make you beg.” John has never imagined saying such things, especially not to Sherlock, but he likes it, he likes it more than he probably should. He loves to fuck and be fucked.

He pushes his finger almost deep as it can go into Sherlock. “Please, please mouth now, I need it.”

“So fucking desperate.” John can barely contain himself.

“Yes, come on, come on.” Sherlock pushes back on John’s finger, taking him to the knuckle groaning and writhing. 

“You’re fucking yourself on me.” John remarks in awe.

“Mouth!” He demands, tugging hard on his hair. John can hardly refuse him now.

“Fuck.” John devours him, taking him to the back of his mouth and into his throat. Sherlock cries out and scratches the back of John’s neck. John doesn’t care, it feels good, he won’t stop. His forces a second finger inside Sherlock with a twist and begins thrusting in time with the hand on his own cock. 

“Yes, oh god, oh... soon... soon...” Sherlock gasps between the thrusts of John's fingers.

John pulls his head away and reluctantly moves his hand from chasing his own pleasure and to finishing Sherlock. With his other fingers more firmly massaging Sherlock's prostate he watches as he nears the precipice. Quivering, his shirt clinging to him with sweat, his hair plastered to his forehead and his skin flushed. John wishes he could take a photograph but it's not something he'll likely forget. Sherlock pulls up his shirt even higher, baring more of the sinewy torso. His eyes closed, mouth panting, he’s so close but he can’t quite get there, he’s struggling to let go. 

“Come Sherlock, my gorgeous wanton little tart. Come all over yourself.”

That did it. Sherlock gasps and shivers as he spills his orgasm over John’s hand and his own stomach. John’s close to coming too, the sight of Sherlock's cock spurting is almost enough, but he has to wait. Everything, god, it's amazing to see. 

Sherlock sags into the sofa and John slowly untangles himself without disturbing his afterglow. He nips into the kitchen for a tea towel before returning, still quite erect, to Sherlock’s side. He’s tucked himself back into his boxers but his arousal is all too evident. John cleans Sherlock a little but a tea towel really isn’t suited to the job. “Feel better?”

“Hmmph? Oh, quite.” Sherlock’s eyes open for a moment, they look hazy, the first time John’s ever seen them not thinking. It feels like something special. “John?”

“Yeah?” John’s secretly hoping he’ll offer something in return, he had asked how big his cock was after all.

“You shouldn’t have asked me those questions.”

“No, I probably shouldn't have but I don’t think any differently of you. Just because you enjoy that during sex doesn’t mean I’m going to start calling you names because you used the last of the tea. Each to their own.”

“Make things even, John,” he drawls, drunk on his orgasm, “tell me what you like, your secret sexual fantasy.”

“Being held down while I’m being fucked. Or held up, as long as it’s a bit rough. Oh god.” John looks panicked and stares daggers at Sherlock. “You- you dosed me you fucker!”

“Dosed yourself, I used that tea towel after the spill. You’ve also given me more.” Sherlock smiles and runs his fingernails down John’s chest to his slightly waning erection and dove inside his boxers. “Time to turn the tables I think.”

“Oh god, Sherlock.” John groans, equally aroused and frightened at what he’ll reveal.

“What do you want?”

“Fuck me.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John says 'fuck' a lot in the chapter.

They tumble into John’s room, Sherlock’s underwear and trousers lost along the way, his shirt half undone, John still in his boxer shorts, t-shirt and socks. Sherlock shoves him backwards up against the wall next to his bedside table, smothering him in a kiss that slams his head against the wall. John struggles while still accepting Sherlock’s tongue that’s running riot in his mouth. He pushes his lips away but he’s still pinned hard against the wall by Sherlock’s half naked form. 

“No more. We – we should stop, this is out of control.” John pants.

“Do you want to stop?” Sherlock asks like he already knows the answer, that hint of a smirk on his lips. 

“No.” John cringes as truth is spoken. Sherlock smiles devilishly and grabs both of John’s wrists, pinning them either side of his head so John can’t push him away again. He dives in for another bruising kiss but John turns his head away, “please Sherlock, god.”

“I’m offering everything you want.” He drawls in his low tones, grinding himself slow against John’s covered erection, John chokes back every noise he can but the effort shows on his face.

“T-this isn’t right.” 

“Was making me reveal my little name calling kink _‘right’_ John?” John has never heard his voice like that before. John's caught between worry and arousal. 

“No.” He can’t help but answer. 

“I’ve never told anyone that, it’s my own fantasy, it was supposed to be _mine._ ” Sherlock squeezes his wrists tighter and John swallows hard.

“I’m- I’m sorry.” John struggles but Sherlock pins him hard again, rubbing John’s cock with his thigh.

“You want me to penetrate you, don’t you?”

John closes his eyes, he could escape but he wants this too. “Yes.”

“Look at me.” 

John obeys even though he doesn’t have to. This is spiralling out of control but all John can think about is how he can feel so much of Sherlock pressed against him. 

“You want me to _make_ you take it all. You liked it when I grabbed your hair, pushed you down on me, didn’t you?” John knows that these are deductions, not questions but he asks anyway just to hear John answer. "You want me to _make_ you."

“Yes. To everything. Please, Sherlock.” John doesn’t know if he's pleading for Sherlock to stop asking questions, to stop touching him or just get on and fuck him. 

“Fine.” Sherlock makes quick work of John’s t-shirt, barely giving him room to breathe before taking his boxers down with little finesse. Sherlock grabs John’s wrists, pushing them hard into the wall again. Sherlock’s white shirt was sliding off one shoulder baring half his chest, John wonders what he looks like from behind and how much of his arse was showing from under the material. He swore that Sherlock knew what he was thinking and grins before looking down between them at what he’s revealed. 

“Alright?” John asks hesitantly, he's unabashedly hard despite his reservations. Sherlock's staring at John’s erection. 

“Lovely, yes, it’ll do.”

“It’ll do?” John responds rather incredulously.

“Yes. Shut up now.” Sherlock says plainly before plunging toward John’s neck and sucking skin into his mouth and nibbling hard enough to hurt. John’s knees buckle and a moan unwillingly escapes his lips, the stab of pleasure-pain shooting from his neck to his cock. Sherlock moves higher up his neck and does it again, John’s sure he's leaving marks and tries to pull away but there’s nowhere to go. Sherlock proves his point by moving John’s arms higher up the wall above his head and sucking brutally hard. Eventually Sherlock pulls away and softly kisses his marks one by one. “I could ask you anything.”

“So could I, you got another dose.” John hopes that they’re in some form of stalemate. Feels more like mutually assured destruction.

“But you feel bad about pushing me; you might not risk it again.”

“Depends how far you push me.” John pushes his hands off the wall but Sherlock slams them back with a smirk. John feels a stream of hot precome trickle down his length and wonders if he could come just from Sherlock doing this, from just staring at him like he is right now, fighting him. They're both breathing heavy and John can see him thinking about his next move. “Sher-”

Whatever Sherlock was debating is soon settled when he turns John around to face the wall. Sherlock uses his height advantage to keep John’s hands pinned together on the wall, stretched up but making him slightly bent over, pushing his arse out. He holds John’s wrists with one hand, John could easily escape from but chooses not to, as Sherlock fumbles inside the bedside table. He soon finds John’s stash of lubricant. 

“Shoulder ok?”

“Yeah.” John’s taken aback by Sherlock’s concern considering the position he’s in but it’s welcome none the less. His adrenaline is pounding, nothing hurts.

The concern is long gone when Sherlock kicks John’s legs apart and presses a liberal amount of cold lube into the top of his cleft. John spreads himself wider as the gel runs downwards over his sensitive pucker and behind his balls. Sherlock’s free hand smoothes the lubricant along John’s centre with the side of his index finger and the crook of his thumb. John rocks himself with the smooth back and forth motion, enjoying the warmth and the subtle bumps of Sherlock’s hand against sensitive skin. He knows it's shameless but he's beyond caring now. He shivers and pulls against the hand holding his wrists but the hands squeeze tighter and dig in. “Not going anywhere, John.”

“Oh my god.” John gasps when Sherlock starts slicking his balls with the lubricant, massaging and tugging on them gently. 

“Feels good?” Sherlock asks again like he already knows the answer, he just wants to hear it aloud. 

“Christ good.”

“You seemed to like mine; quite obvious you’d enjoy having yours touched too. Tell me John...”

“Oh god.” Dread and sexual need is a strange mixture; it was a whole new edge of excitement he hasn’t experienced before. 

“When was the last time you masturbated in your bed?”

“This morning.” He bites his lip. He has no control, the words erupting in the same moment as the answer crosses his mind. The memory too.

“What did you think about?”

“You. Fuck.” Sherlock holds his balls tight, just bordering on painful but wonderfully so. “Ohhh, fu-”

“What was I doing in your fantasy?” Sherlock goes back to sliding his fingers, faster this time.

“Oh god, um, you’d snuck into my bed and curled up behind me, you told me you wanted to do an experiment and then you... used your hand on me.” Suddenly the words he would have normally used deserted him; he's bending to Sherlock’s will.

“Did that make me erect in your fantasy, John?” 

“Yes, oh god.” He gasps as Sherlock sweeps his slick hand around his sack again. “Are you hard now?”

“Not yet. Not as young as I used to be but we have time before I bugger you yet.”

John’s knees fail him again at hearing Sherlock use the term ‘bugger’. He’s heard him use it as a swear word but this was infinitely better. 

“Would you like me to do that? Sneak in while you’re still asleep? Touch you, make you my experiment?”

“Yes, I, uh, wouldn’t object.” 

“Good.” Sherlock roughly pushes a finger inside John, not stopping at his instinctual clench, forcing his way in. John grunts through the intrusion, Sherlock’s finger impossibly long, impossibly wriggly too. “Rough enough?” He rumbles into John’s ear, oozing arrogance. The tables really have turned.

“Yes.” John sighs. He needs this, he's wanted this for so long. Harder and more.

“When did you last do this?” Sherlock asks before sucking the skin on John’s back below his neck and massaging his tongue against it in rhythm with his probing finger. 

John drops his head at the action and where that question might lead. “Couple of months ago.” 

“You were with... oh. Interesting.” John doesn’t need to look around to see Sherlock’s expression; he knows exactly what he looks like when he learns something new, something he hasn’t anticipated. “Very interesting.” He says to himself, his thumb rubbing the underside of John’s wrist, distracting him just as much as Sherlock’s other hand that's pushing as deep as it can.

John’s about to respond when Sherlock leans over and bites down on his shoulder hard enough forcing a shout, distracting John as Sherlock shoves two fingers inside. “Fu-” John hisses but concentrates on breathing and keeping relaxed, the thrill of Sherlock being the one to do this helping him through, the feel of Sherlock’s shirt reminding him that he is the one completely naked. The bite to his shoulder is aching much, much too nicely as Sherlock kisses it better. 

“She’s not a part of this stupid thing we’re doing, no questions about her.” He says in a voice that’s much more strained than he wants as Sherlock moves his fingers so they dip in and out, breaching John over and over. 

“Just fingers or toys?” 

“Fingers then strap-on.” Comes the quick answer through gritted teeth. Sherlock almost laughs at the struggle. “Sherlock, no questions about Sarah, agreed?” He can barely stand the teasing and squirms.

“Yes, fine, though I already suspect why.” Sherlock pushes his fingers to the knuckle in one movement and John growls through his teeth. It's so much, so good. “You sound nice when you cry out. It’s pleasing.”

“Well, oh...” Sherlock moving his fingers fast to stretch him John can barely keep up. John's trying to decide whether to ask Sherlock some questions but his mind keeps deserting him. “Oh, oh god, agh.” Sherlock has found his sweet spot and is rushing through various types of strokes, presses and massages to see what noises and movements made John do. A rolling, wiggling movement with the length of those long fingers was John’s favourite, making a loud groan rumble from his chest and his thighs tremble like he was on the brink of coming. 

John's completely focused on the fingers working inside until Sherlock introduces a new sensation. He drags his fingernails slowly down John's stretched arm, John can hear the scratch as much as he can feel it, wincing as Sherlock keeps going regardless. 

“Keep your arms up.” Sherlock orders as his nails scratch down his chest and scrape around a nipple.

“Fuck.” John nods and watches four red trails bloom on his arm. "Oh god." He’s hoping that Sherlock scratches are on his way to touching his cock a little more gently and- “Oh, oh, oh fuck...” Sherlock uses the distraction of wrapping his hand around him for the first time to roughly press a third finger inside. "Fuuuuuck." John growls, trying to buck his hips away but Sherlock has him caught, holding the base of his cock to hold him still and twist his three fingers inside. 

“Is this what you wanted, John?” 

“Yeah, oh, ohhh, fuck, fuck.” John groans and tips his head back and then forward, it’s all becoming too much, it had never been like this before. The intensity, it was overwhelming, Sherlock has him under complete control and John doesn't know whether to fight or give in. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

“You didn’t swear as much before the army.”

“Not the time to dedu-, aggh, damn it.” Sherlock cuts off his sentence with another sharp bite. Soon a second and a third and a fourth. John's moaning with each bite, canting his hips, keeping a rhythm with Sherlock who's rubbing his hardness against his thigh with each nip of his teeth. “Oh god, oh god, would you?” 

“You’re ready for me?”

“Yes. Fuck me.”

“Wait.” Sherlock instructs and quickly unwraps a condom one handed while trying to keep his fingers nestled inside John. 

“You've done this before?”

“Buggered my flatmate while doped up on homemade drugs that stops us from lying? No, I haven’t.”

“You know what I meant.”

“I answered honestly.”

Sherlock gives him a twist of his fingers that almost buckles John into the wall. “Fuuuuck.”

“Yes, I was planning on that. Bit rough, just like you want.” Sherlock's behind him again, a fist in his hair to twist John’s head around for bite filled kiss. After whatJohn had done down stairs, Sherlock's getting his pound of flesh, sucking and biting. John’s neck is hurting but the reward is more than worthwhile. John lets him abuse his mouth but he soon feels those fingers leave him only to be replaced by the insistent push of Sherlock's cock. John closes his eyes and focuses, hands still on the wall, barely believing they are about to do this but wanting nothing else. 

The hand in his hair slips to his hips with a harsh drag of his nails down his back. Sherlock pulls him backwards as Sherlock eases forward, squeezing inside. John groans as Sherlock keeps up the pressure, stopping for nothing. 

“Oh, you do feel good.” Sherlock sighs on an exhale; John can feel his breath on his ear and tilts his head toward where Sherlock’s mouth must be. Sherlock doesn't kiss him and instead they share air as Sherlock sinks deeper and deeper. John doesn't have time to adjust to the stretch but he doesn't tell him to slow down. With one last shove and yet another small shout from John, Sherlock's inside him completely. “Does it feel good, John?” 

“Amazing.” Sherlock is flush against him and John's flying. It's Sherlock. “Amazing, amazing.”

“Better than a strap-on?”

“Much, so much.”

“Fuck yourself John, move.”

“What?” John doesn't want to think, he wants to be fucked.

“I’m going to stand here and you’re going to fuck yourself on me. Understand?”

John engages his brain enough to understand. The way John had been erotically awed to see Sherlock move on his fingers, to watch Sherlock need John's fingers moving inside him. Another small revenge. “Yeah, yeah, oh god, ok.” John slowly moves forward and uses his arm to push back. “Oh fuck.” Again, forward until Sherlock almost leaves him then back again as far as he can go. They both grunt in unison. 

“Are you watching?” John asks as he shoves himself back harder this time.

“Yes.” 

“Describe it.” John thrusts back again, picking up pace, the sweat glistening across his body. 

Sherlock says nothing and busies himself with meeting John’s movements, gripping his thighs and digging his fingers into John’s skin.

“Has it worn off for you?” John asks worried.

“No. God John, just shut up and keep going.” Sherlock snaps and pinches John’s nipples hard making him yelp and damn near almost come. “It looks excellent ok, I love watching myself disappear inside you, I love seeing you stretched around my penis, can you just- damn you.” Sherlock loses control and grabs John’s hips, thrusting hard and fast, grunting with the exertion. “Rough, you wanted me to bugger you rough.”

“Yes, god, bugger me, please.” John braces his hands against the wall as Sherlock becomes wild, pounding him and filling the room with the sounds of skin slapping on skin. John can’t think, he can only feel the prick fucking him and the amazing sound of Sherlock giving everything he has. “I want. To come. Touch me.” John forces out as clearly as he can. He can't take much more.

“Not yet.” Sherlock pulls him upright by his hair and before shoving him forwards so his face crashes against the wall. John shivers and moans as Sherlock makes sure to keep him spread out, pulling his cheeks apart to get just as deep as he starts to move again. He's pinned by the length of Sherlock’s body, his cock deep inside him, John can barely move and has to accept Sherlock’s frantic thrusting, using every inch of extra height to his advantage to almost lift John off the floor. “Yes, yes, yes.” Sherlock whispers into his ear with hot panting breath. “I’m a good slut, aren’t I?”

“God, yes, fuck, fuck, fuck.” John snakes a hand down to touch himself, it won’t take much. Not with Sherlock talking like that.

“No, me. I’ll make you orgasm.” Sherlock grabs tight and let his relentless forward motion push John into his fist.

Words desert John as everything starts to peak so beautifully, the stutter of Sherlock’s movements as he gasps the same noise he made downstairs, coming the very moment that John lets go. John clings on for dear life as he tries to curl into the wall and shouts out. John can feel his insides shiver along Sherlock’s twitching cock like he’s never felt before. He wants to feel it again and again, next time to see if he can climax while Sherlock comes around him. "Fuck, Sherlock, oh, god, oh fuck." John's speaking nonsense as his body returns to him. "Fuck, oh god, Sherlock."

John finally sags in Sherlock’s arms, still squashed against the wall while Sherlock slumps into John’s shoulder to catch his breath. John swears he can feel him smile but he’s concentrating on not sliding to the floor. They’re almost breathing in sync, chests rising and falling together. “What depravities hide under your doctorly facade, John?”

“Too many.” John puffs, still being honest. “Shush. Wanna lie down.” John tries to push himself off the sticky wall but Sherlock won’t move.

“I want to find them.”

“No.” 

“You might not have a choice.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you do like to check ahead I've put the kinks in the bottom notes so I don't spoil. Thanks to everyone who has left a comment, kudos or a suggestion, makes writing extra fun! Still open to suggestions here or on twitter @CleoKat2010

The morning after their accidental experiment had been rather horrendous. It had seemed that one of the side effects had been dehydration leading to muscle cramps, headaches and a rather foul mood. John had insisted he kept an eye on Sherlock in case either of them needed to be admitted to hospital. Sherlock had argued until his hand cramped up and his fingers began pointing at painfully odd angles. 

They’d spent the day drinking mineral salts on the sofa, John sitting rather gingerly, with them complaining about how ill they felt. John had even rubbed Sherlock’s feet through some rather painful muscle cramps while he howled and squirmed. They both dozed through the afternoon on each other, waking periodically to switch their choice of channel on the television. Somehow the enforced companionship of being ill together had resolved the awkward morning after the night before where we accidently became drugged and had sex. 

There were subtle changes to their relationship in the following week. They hadn’t talked about what had happened, in fact their conversations were as normal as they could ever be considering the life they led. Occasionally, however, Sherlock would find himself caught remembering, staring at John’s mouth and remembering how it looked when it was swollen and bitten, the way it had looked when John had held his testicles between his lips, the way his tongue had wiggled sinuously across such sensitive skin. 

The same was true of John. Sherlock would observe as John’s eyes hovered on the sofa for a few seconds and watch his eyes lose focus. After those times he always sat down with his legs crossed, swallowing air and thinking up a reason to go to his room. It had to happen again, Sherlock knew they both wanted it, he didn’t need the serum to know. He'd even gone to the trouble of making sure they both had a clean bill of health for any future activities. Still, it felt like they were circling something dangerous, something potentially destructive. 

Tonight, Sherlock can’t sleep. Dawn is beginning to break and Sherlock is reliving the feeling of pressing up against John’s sweaty back and the sound he made as he came. It was almost like he was he pain but a gratifying pain, a very good pain, a beautiful pain. He wants to hear it again. He needs to hear it again. He’s even purposefully elicited memories of that night by bringing home the same meal that had gone cold and wearing the same clothes. John hadn’t lasted long before making an excuse to write an email in his room. Sherlock listened to him masturbating, palming himself at the same time while waiting for that cry but John muffled the sound. Sherlock wondered if John's orgasm was even half as powerful as it was when they were together. They're duller for Sherlock too, he's never experienced anything like he has with John.

Sherlock's decidedly bored of seeing to his own needs with meagre orgasms but his erection's nagging away like it has done every night and day since. A decision is made. He undresses and grabs a tube from his bedside table before creeping quietly to John’s bedroom. It has been playing on his mind that John had fantasised about him though he suspects that John fantasises about almost everyone, male and female, it didn’t mean that Sherlock is anything special. He isn’t sure whether he wants to be anything special, but he knows he wants access to John, access to the truth and all his secrets. He wants everything. 

He cracks open the door and stares at John’s sleeping form. He’s laid on his back, one arm on his stomach, the other spread out and resting against the wall as the room isn’t big enough to have a bedside table on either side. He’s sleeping shirtless, the sheet ruffled around his waist, one leg pulled up to the side, the other stretched out. His lips are slightly parted as they did naturally, the same mouth that called him a dirty little cock tease but the same mouth that said he was amazing, the same mouth that worried he wasn't eating enough. John sighs in his sleep. A picture of peaceful relaxation.

Sherlock creeps silently to the end of the bed, wraps one hand around his erection to idly stroke himself as he slowly pulls on the bottom of the sheet, revealing more of the sleeping John. He hasn’t had time to take in the detail of John’s body, the honeyed tone of his skin, the occasional mole and the light birthmark that sits next to his belly button. He admires the lines of soft flesh and muscle across his stomach that pulled tight and quivered when he came.

There were scars too, Sherlock could spend an hour categorising them, giving them their history but it will have to wait for now. John has collected so many; more than Sherlock has by far. He would have wagered otherwise. Most of them are barely visible but they are there. He'll ask him one day. 

Sherlock keeps pulling the sheet, greedily taking in the growing expanse of skin exposed to his eyes. He forgets about the scars when it becomes apparent that John isn’t wearing anything to bed. Sherlock closes his eyes to steady himself, the rush of arousal and pure want dizzying him slightly. He takes that as a sign that John wants Sherlock to come to him, to touch him, to make him come again. 

Sherlock's stroking himself quicker now as he unveils John’s flaccid penis, nestled and laid to the left. Soft and sleeping like John. Sherlock keeps pulling on the sheet until John's completely revealed, strong legs littered with yet more small scars and two large, slightly hairy feet. Sherlock has never been a great admirer of feet but he notes that John’s are pleasing to look at, almost handsome in a way. They were well kept, neat but very male. Sherlock has the brief thought of sucking on John’s big toe like John had fellated him but the risk of John kicking out in his sleep is too high. That can wait but Sherlock wants to see if he can make John hard by sucking on his fingers and toes, maybe keep him blind folded, ear plugs too. Another experiment. Sherlock squeezes himself tight, yes, he wants to do that soon.

Sherlock carefully moves John’s leg that's laying straight, pulling it up and out so it matches the other one, making space for Sherlock to kneel between tthem. He moves him slowly, engaging John's muscles as little as possible. John's leg settles where Sherlock wants it and with no sign of stirring. Slowly Sherlock eases himself on to the bed. Once settled he looks him over again, taking in the dark oval shape of his nipples that are almost flat when not aroused. He stares at the fine, blonde hair under John's outstretched arm and wants to push his fingers up into it, just to feel if it's as soft as it looks. 

Sherlock smiles to himself. The information he's collecting about John was forming a new picture. Naked and so deeply asleep, he'd slept heavily the night after their liaison. Sherlock has a theory. A theory must be tested. Sherlock sets a hand at John's side but makes sure not to depress the mattress, it's just for balance. Slowly and with his breath held on an exhale he leans forward and down to sniff John's stomach. Sherlock smiles, John smells like come. Flicking his eyes up to John and watching carefully he sticks out his tongue and with the softest of touches, licks just a little. John doesn't flinch. He licks again, pressing the flat of his wet tongue down and stroking upwards without moving his head, without taking his eyes off John. 

It's too good. Sherlock has to ease himself back quickly and touches himself again. John tastes exquisite. Sherlock feels dirty and sluttish to sneak in a taste John's filthy skin but that only makes it better. It only makes every stroke of his own hand more exciting. He can only hope that he has tasted the result of John thinking about him, about what they have done and what he wants to do in the future. Sherlock's quite convinced he'll do anything now. 

Sherlock spreads his own legs a little wider and uses his other hand to tease at the tip of his cock as he jerks himself. John’s fantasy had been interesting to hear despite its lack of creativity. John wants to be an experiment and Sherlock wants to play and test the limits of what they are doing. They are a perfect match. Sherlock's doing his best to keep his breathing steady but it's becoming a losing battle. He bites his own lips together, he wants two hands focused on his erection so he'll have to keep quiet or cover his mouth. John's steady, ignorant breaths and his unknowingly exposed privates are only fuelling Sherlock's need and making Sherlock want to groan. 

He's getting closer, his hips trying to thrust in time with his hand but he's making a mess of it and shaking the bed. He's too focused on John, blissfully unaware of the self pleasure taking place between his legs and outside his consciousness. Sherlock wants to touch him, palm his sleeping flesh to hardness but he can't, it's too great a risk. He doesn't know John's favourite way to be touched yet, everything has been rushed and focused elsewhere. 

His self pleasure is frantic now, he feels like he's being obscenely loud but he can't help himself. He hasn't even given lubricant a second thought, doing this was enough to make him slick just like John had been. Oh, he's close now, sucking on his own tongue to keep tasting John, biting his lips tight together to almost hurt, feeling that rush... John twitches in his sleep, Sherlock freezes, so close, his body wondering what the hell happened to possibly make him stop now, it's screaming and cursing to keep going. He has to come. It's madness to stop now even if he could get caught being so depraved.

The thought of John catching him spurs him on. He covers his mouth and a few more tight pulls later he's shaking and jerking forward, coming over John's flaccid cock. Sherlock watches in awe as he coats John while he still sleeps, not even bothering to check to see if he's disturbed him. He wants to remember that sight forever, his own seed streaking John, dripping and sliding on his skin. It's perfect. He shudders and wants to slump right over, it was better than anything he's done since that evening. Sherlock takes a moment to breathe again, removing the hand across his mouth and sits back on his heels sated. 

John still slept.

He can't stay much longer, the sensation of cooling might wake him soon. Sherlock climbs off the bed slowly. It's cutting his original plan short but he'll return tomorrow night. For now he wants to leave John to wake up, covered in Sherlock's seed, assuming it's his own. He wants to keep that knowledge to himself for now. 

Next time he'll be caught.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter features a suggestion left on my livejournal page of somniphilia. You could also say there's just a tiny hint of dub-con considering one party is asleep but it's mostly Sherlock being a little bit of a sexy creeper ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kinks posted at the bottom for those who like to know, for those who don't, read on!

John raises his fists, feeling the movement around him and the hand tight on his mouth but he sees who it is before he punches his attacker. _Sherlock._ He's sitting astride him but not touching, looking down at John with a fiery hunger. He's completely naked and fully aroused. John's burst of adrenaline fuels something other than the instinct to fight and John almost whines at the sight. _Yes._

"I'm making you my experiment." He drawls.

John tries not to give his delight away. _It's about bloody time._ Every night since the drugging he'd slept naked hoping Sherlock would pay him a visit. He's been going mad with horniness, it was almost unbearable. Sherlock has triggered something inside him, he can barely get through the day without seeing to himself at least twice. When he'd woken this morning he could hardly believe that he'd come in his sleep even after what was a rather intense wank. Though nothing had been as intense as being fucked into a wall by Sherlock. 

John knows he can't hide the reaction Sherlock's causing but he doesn't want to hide. He gives his assent by licking Sherlock's palm.

"Ohhh, John." Sherlock's eyes turn heavy. "You read my mind."

John smiles with his eyes and licks again, swirling his tongue in a circle and tickling. Sherlock may be on top but John wants some control. 

"Do you want to know what my experiment is?"

John nods and runs his hands up the outside Sherlock's thighs until he cups and firmly squeezes Sherlock's arse. Sherlock reaction is much more explosive than he expected, tipping his head back and groaning. John knows that some of it is for show but that doesn't make him any less fucking gorgeous to look at. John does it again, this time catching something with the tips of his fingers... John's eyes widen as Sherlock smiles like the cat who's got the cream. 

Sherlock drags his hand from John's mouth, dipping his fingers inside and stroking his tongue. John tries to suck but the fingers are gone. "Surprised?"

"Yes." John's voice is hoarse as he strokes along the bottom of the toy, sending vibrations inside.

"It goes deep." Sherlock groans, hands resting on John's chest for balance. "I prepared myself right here while you slept. On my knees at your bedside while I watched you sleep. I wanted you to wake up and catch me but it's too late now. I have you."

"Fucking hell, Sherlock." John curses his ability to sleep like the dead after he's climaxed. The day had been a long one too and he needed the sleep. John doesn't know what time it is now but he's wide awake and raring to go. He moves one of his hands between Sherlock legs and strums the toy, letting his wrist brush against Sherlock's balls. 

"Mmmph, oh!" Sherlock digs his fingers in as another spike of pleasure shoots through him and John wants him even more. Everything had been rushed before and John was desperate for another chance to take his time. He thought that Sherlock had gotten bored yet here he is. Hard and ready in every single way. "It's huge. I opened myself with it, do you know why?"

"Because you fucking need a good fucking." John isn't sure where that answer came from but it was what he was thinking. John's already hard himself, this insatiable phase is paying dividends.

"Do you want to do the fucking?" Sherlock practically purrs, dragging a fingernail around John's nipple.

"Yes, god yes." John feels control slipping away.

"Say please." Sherlock demands but John smirks and pushes on the bottom of the toy sharply. He's not giving up that easily. "Ohhh John, oh you... bastard." Sherlock rises eagerly to the bait, grabs John's wrists and pins him down on the bed. "No one gets my arse for free. Say please, beg for it."

John's buzzing from the feeling of being pinned down but he won't submit, not yet. "Let me fuck you, you want my fat cock in your arse. That's why you're here." John has let Sherlock get away with far too much, the bite marks on his back have only just faded. John had taken to pressing down on them every time he wanked as a reminder.

"You're not giving me what I want on purpose." Sherlock leans down but still far enough away that John doesn't lose focus on his eyes. The weight on his wrists is near painful but another wave of excitement pulses through John as the danger increases. "Aren't you?"

"Yeah." John's brow furrows. He'd intended on saying something wittier and dirtier.

"Beg or I'll punish you."

"Sherlock..." John can't be sure but before he can finish his sentence Sherlock lets go of one of his wrists.

"Punishment." Sherlock grabs John's cock and starts to masturbate him fast. "I'll make you come right now and then I'll go to my room and fuck myself to completion, do you want that?"

"Oh fuck, no, no don't go. Have you-"

"Ask to bugger me, be sincere." Sherlock keeps going on John's cock despite John's poor efforts to stop him. He's scrabbling at the hand that won't let go of his cock and struggling to resist orgasm, Sherlock working him perfectly.

John's other concerns fly out the window as he tries to keep himself from coming. "Please, please Sherlock, I want you, I want to fuck you, I want to see you ride me like you want, please, please, oh god don't let me come yet, I want to come in you, please."

Sherlock takes his hand away and John breathes deep to bring himself back from the brink. "Oh fuuuck." Ok, he isn't in control but the reward will be worth it. 

"Put a condom on yourself, do it now." Sherlock hands one he'd set aside but John's hands are shaking and too uncoordinated for such fine motor skills. "For gods sake." Sherlock grabs it and rolls it on him, making his touch as brisk as possible. "Don't come."

"I'm fucking trying." He grimaces. "Where did you learn to wank someone like that?"

"My chemistry tutor."

"Really?" John's arousal is suddenly tinged by concern. "How o-" 

"Yes." Sherlock cuts him off. "Now, take out the object." Sherlock forces John's hand towards the thing inside him and John grabs hold.

Questions can wait. "Do you like having it in you?" John pushes on it again, making Sherlock grab on to whatever bits of John he can, forearm and stomach. 

"Oh god. Um, not particularly, nothing beats real flesh. It's too solid, no give, no pulse."

"Yeah, know what you mean." John pulls on the toy. "Jesus." It's not a traditionally shaped plug like John was expecting but a long, life-like dildo. "Fucking hell, you said it went deep but... bloody hell." John keeps pulling, slower than he needs to so he can savour the sight of it, only wishing Sherlock was facing the other way so John had the most explicit view possible. He wants to see Sherlock stretched around the fake cock. No, he wants to see Sherlock stretched around him. "God."

"Come on, come on." Sherlock grits his teeth, his whole body tense and hard.

"You're fucking sexy like this. Gorgeous and bloody amazing."

"I'm not, agh." The end of the dildo slips free and John casts it aside. "Finally."

Before John can think Sherlock steadies John's cock and sinks down on him to the hilt. "Oh fuck, don't move, don't move!"

"Don't you dare come!"

"Who's fucking fault would that be Mr Wank-tastic?" John strains angrily between gritted teeth. 

"Mine." Sherlock stern expression melts into something resembling pride but he stays obediently still.

"God Sherlock, how can you feel like this after having that toy inside you?" John huffs air in through his nose and out through his mouth to calm down, he would not lose it like this.

"I've always been told I'm a snug fit."

"Bet they didn't use those words."

"I paraphrased."

"Oh god, snug, very, very snug." John's got control of himself again but just barely, the clench around his prick feeling like nothing else. "Go on, I'm ready."

"Stay still, I'm setting the pace." Sherlock rises slow and John watches as almost every inch of him leave Sherlock's body before he sinks back down. It's a gorgeous sight. It isn't a toy this time, it's John. "Ohhhh, much better with flesh." One more time and Sherlock's smiling. "Tell me, John, what did you think about when you masturbated last night?"

"You sucking me off in the hotel in Paris we stayed in." John thumps the mattress with his fist, his suspicion was correct and he'd gotten distracted. "Ah, you absolute dickhead!" John was perfectly willing. Why did Sherlock have to ruin this? 

"I changed the formula, no dehydration this time. Perfectly safe."

"You drugged me. You put it on me while I was still sleeping, didn't you?"

"No."

"How then?"

"My hand. You licked it clean of your own free will though I would have instructed you. You even sucked it off my fingers."

"You utter..." John's fuming and restraining himself from clobbering Sherlock. "Wait, you're dosed too?"

"Yes."

"Right. Get off me."

"No." Sherlock rises and falls on John's cock and it feels exquisite. John groans, gripping Sherlock's hips hard. Sherlock takes him to the hilt and leans over. "We can argue and disagree, you can even fight me off if you want, but we both know I'll keep asking if you want to fuck me and you'll keep saying yes."

"Get. Off. Me. Or I will make you."

"Ugh, if we must." Sherlock gruffs before coming closer still, biting his lip coquettishly and speaking low. "Do you want to be deep inside me, John? Do you want me to ride your huge cock like I can't get enough of you?"

John tries to resist but the truth erupts. "Yes." John growls at himself. 

"Enough of your principled stand, take advantage, John." Sherlock slowly moves up, purposely squeezing John as he moves. "Feels good doesn't it?" Sherlock stares him down and does it again and again. John tries and fails to hide exactly how good it feels. 

"Yes." John squirms but Sherlock pins his chest down, keeping him restrained. 

"We could do away with the condom, I've had us both tested, nothing need stop us doing what we want to each other."

"This isn't a bloody game!"

"But it is _fun._ "

"Christ." John eyes roll back with one talented move from Sherlock, almost rippling. "The condom stays on." He doesn't want to acknowledge this, a thin layer of latex was some separation at least.

"The Paris hotel, I remember it well. We shared a double bed out of necessity. Did you want to fuck me then?"

"Yes, of course I did!" Sherlock picks up his pace, making his back concave and taking John deeper. "God." John's effort fades as he struggles between his urge to thrust up and wishing he was strong enough to resist. John runs his hands down Sherlock's chest and stomach, taking in the way he curves his body just for the purposes of taking John inside him. "God, ride me, feels so good." John has given in. If Sherlock's set the rules at least he can play by them. "Did you want me in Paris too?"

"Yes."

"And before then?"

"Always." Sherlock pauses for a moment before carrying on with his rhythm, thighs working hard as he skilfully rises and impales himself on John.

John smirks a little, Sherlock's not meeting his eyes anymore. "That was news to you, wasn't it?" 

"Yes." Sherlock bites his lip and drops his head, still riding him slow. 

"Regretting the serum?"

"Immensely." 

"Why did you use it?"

"I wanted to question you, I thought you'd hit me if I didn't make it even. Concentrate, John." Sherlock grinds down on John and makes him groan long and hard.

"Yeah, I would have..." He answers but his mind is focused on what Sherlock's doing to him. "Oh god, do that again." 

Sherlock grinds, swivelling his hips to touch his own prostate. "John, your prick is magnificent."

"And I didn't even have to ask."

"You've been waiting for me to come in here, haven't you?"

"Obviously. What took you so long?"

"It's been just under twenty four hours since my last visit to your bed." Sherlock's looking at him again, reading his expression as he comprehends what Sherlock's saying.

"You were here last night?"

"Yes." Sherlock traps John's nipples between his fingers and pinches tight.

"Aggh, easy!" John chastises. "What did you do?"

"I knelt between your legs and I licked your stomach."

John remembers his lazy attempt at cleaning up after he came and rocks his hips up into Sherlock. "Oh shit... did you... did it taste..." 

"Like come? Yes. Stop thrusting, I'm in charge."

"So that's how you knew I'd wanked last night?"

"Yes. Then I touched myself until I came on you. Such a powerful orgasm, I watched every drop land on you."

John's jaw falls slack. "You..." Sherlock smiles and starts riding him more vigorously, his admission spurring on his intent to come. "It was yours?"

"Yes. I left you here, John, covered in my seed, soiled, my filthy little experiment."

"Oh bloody... I don't even know..."

"It arouses you, you just got harder, I felt you."

He had. "Yeah, you really are filthy, do you know that?" God John loved it, he loved it because he would never have thought to do such a thing, to want such a thing. Yet he did, he wanted whatever Sherlock can think of because it will be so much better than anything he can imagine. 

"Yes, I do. You make me want to be filthier."

"How? God, tell me, please."

"I'd be yours, let you use me, hurt me, fuck me until I didn't know anything. Until I'm stupid like everyone else."

"Hurt you?"

"Spank me, cut me, choke me. Anything."

"I-I- it's..." John lost himself in a slew of vivid images, not knowing exactly whether he was scared or aroused. A bit of both perhaps.

"Speechless, John?"

"Little bit, fuck I'm close. Keep going."

"Not yet." Sherlock stops much to John's frustration and runs his hands down John's chest. His index finger takes a path from scar to scar, skipping the ones from adulthood and finding only the oldest, the ones that can barely be seen. John's stomach drops unpleasantly and his urge to come is lost. "Why so many scars?"

The truth serum kicks in as he responds automatically, "I've been hurt a lot." John can't let this go any further. He surges upwards and with an arm around Sherlock's waist flips him over, clamping his hand over Sherlock's mouth and his cock still buried deep inside. Sherlock looks shocked but equally intrigued. Sherlock was pushing their boundaries and he'd just hit one. "You have two options. You can ask me again and force me to tell you but I'll leave Sherlock, I swear to God I'll go and you'll never see me again. Or you can wait until we're both clear of the serum and I'll tell you then but it's got to be my choice, Sherlock. _Mine._ Understand?"

Sherlock nods. John removes his hand trying not to let Sherlock see his nerves. He meant what he said but he's doesn't know what Sherlock will decide to do. 

"What's it going to be?"

Sherlock turns his head awkwardly to look at John's clock. "Seven and a half minutes."

"What?"

"How long before you took control, that was my experiment."

"Jammy sod." Relief, nothing but relief. "Right then." John grabs Sherlock's legs, pulling them up over his shoulders and bending Sherlock in half. John's in control now and he wants Sherlock helpless. His mewls and grunts suggest he's enjoying John's initiative but John's going to fuck him deep and easy, no hurting, not tonight. John's still too angry over getting dosed again, he wouldn't be in control of himself. 

John starts thrusting at a gentle pace, getting used to the position and what feels best. "Harder, John, I want to feel this for days."

"Touch yourself, get yourself off while I watch you." John snaps his hips a little harder as he speaks, he doesn't want to rush this now he's got Sherlock pinned like this.

Sherlock licks his palm and fists his cock. "Harder."

John bends him over even more, pulling his arse up on to his lap so he can do nothing but accept John's slow, yet forceful thrusts. "You'll take what I give you." Sherlock's making abortive sounds at each push, trying to speak but the words are getting tangled and wrapped up in moans. He can't move, can't escape. John looks down on him. "Gorgeous. I could keep you like this for hours, what if I tied your hands up and wouldn't let you come?"

"Wouldn't... work." Sherlock grits out and punctuates it with a muffled shout as John bites on Sherlock's calf.

"You can come just from being fucked?"

"Yes. Do you want to see?"

"Fuck, yes, yes, hands off."

"Might take a bit, do you have the stamina?" Sherlock's eyes narrow with pleasure, knowing he can still press John's buttons with simple words.

"Course I do, cheeky git. What do you need?"

"Angle up a bit. Harder." John adjusts with each push until Sherlock head arches back, Adam's apple so prominent and John swears he can see the blood pumping in his veins. "Oh god! John, oh god, like that, perfect."

"God, Sherlock, you're fucking indecent. Shameless."

"K-keep going, this... ah, pace. God, there's... ah, oh... so much I want to do to you." He rushes out the final words, having to brace his arms against the headboard as John's thrusting hard enough to push them up the bed.

"What? Fuck, tell me everything in that deviant little head of yours." 

"I want to see how much you can take." Sherlock grunts and grabs John's hair to anchor himself for a moment. "I want to fuck you with everything I own, fill you up, stretch you until you're crying to come." Sherlock's having to concentrate to get the words out but if anything it's driving them both on. 

"Christ."

"I want to spend hours putting my fingers in you but I wouldn't stop even after I had every single one in you. Would you take my whole hand?"

"Fuck, I might just try. Oh god." John has never entertained the possibility before though he has a significantly sized dildo stashed under the floorboards Sherlock doesn't know about. "What else do you want?"

"Want to make you come whenever I want, wherever I want and how I want." Sherlock sticks his serum coated fingers into John's mouth again, letting him suck and lick as he pants through his nose. "I want your trousers wet with come and then I'll take you home and lick you clean. You'd like that, wouldn't you?" Sherlock pulls his fingers free and licks them himself. 

"Yes."

"Would you let me tie you down?"

"I don't know."

"You can trust me."

"Can I?"

"Always." Sherlock says without hesitation. John's eyes meet Sherlock's but he says nothing. Trust means something different to Sherlock but John doesn't know if that's good or bad. "I want to tie you down, take away your senses until your whole world is my touch. Give yourself to me."

"I just want to make you come. Just fucking."

"Then fuck me like you mean it." Sherlock eyes spark and John wants to show him exactly what he's capable of. John grabs the head board with one hand and steadies Sherlock's hip with the other before giving everything he has, it's damn near violent and brutal but Sherlock's loving it. "Yes, give it, I want, oh, to be fucked..." Wet skin slaps on skin, John grunting with the sheer breathless exertion as Sherlock whimpers as he gets close. "Oh, god... John, ah... there... so hard... there... oh!"

John forces his eyes open to watch as Sherlock's cock twitches and spurts of its own accord, spilling all over Sherlock's stomach and chest, thick and wonderful. "Incredible, Sherlock." He whispers.

"Finish, John."

John didn't need to be told twice as he changes the angle to something easier on his muscles and shorter strokes, favouring the tightness around the head of his cock. "Oh god, Sherlock..." Sherlock embraces his face with both hands, not allowing him to hide even for a second as he tries to turn his face to his own chest. "Sherlock?"

"I want to see you climax."

John doesn't fight him but keeps his eyes closed as his release comes, wracking his whole body and pulsing inside Sherlock. _"Sherlock, Sherlock, god."_ He whispers on the breath he's got left in his lungs. John lets the final spasm flow through him before opening his eyes. He isn't expecting Sherlock to look amazed, in awe even. John looks away, slightly embarrassed but he doesn't know why. He pulls out carefully and gets rid of the condom before laying heavily beside Sherlock.

"You didn't have to wear that condom. Come inside me properly next time."

"Why did you give it to me then?"

"I wanted you inside me before you found out about the serum. You ask too many boring questions."

"So we're both clean?" John knew he was already, but he'd wondered about Sherlock. 

"Yes." Sherlock drags him fingers through the come on his chest and pushes them into John's mouth. 

"Sherlock!" John tries to admonish but god, that taste. 

"More?"

"Yeah, you too." They both dip into the fluid, offering it up on each other's fingers and licking and sucking them clean. John laughs when Sherlock puts a stripe on John's nose and proceeds to lick it wetly off, the smell of Sherlock filling John's nostrils from his breath as much as the come all over him. John gets him back, smearing a hand down Sherlock's neck and making a meal out of cleaning him up.

"John! Oh!"

"Mmmm... delicious, Sherlock."

"More, suck it off my fingers." Sherlock forces fingers towards John's face and he takes them with a hunger. "Your _mouth._ "

"Mmm, good isn't it?"

"Very." Sherlock collects more but John moves so they can lick them clean together, their tongues touching and flicking each other around Sherlock's coated fingers until John pushes them away and settles for kissing Sherlock. He lays over him, chasing the last of their taste away, deep and languidly.

They eventually run out of energy, settling to lie next to each other and pulling the covers over themselves. John doesn't mind having Sherlock in his bed, it has been a while since he'd shared one with a man and certainly none of them were like Sherlock. John needs to know there will be more of this, but he knows how easy it is to lose control. 

"Sherlock?"

"If you're going to ask a boring question or have some sort of moral crisis can it wait until I'm asleep because I'd rather not be awake for the tedium."

"I want... to keep doing this."

"Interesting."

"We should have some sort of safe word, do it properly, safely."

"Ugh, boring. Why would you take something as good as this and spoil it with rules?"

"Because you want me to hurt you, Sherlock. Because you want to push me. Because there won't always be the serum to make sure we tell the truth and because I'm a doctor and I know that it's easy to cross the line into dangerous."

"You know from experience." Sherlock says knowingly, there's no point lying even without the question.

"That too."

"No safe words. If you say stop, I'll stop."

"It's more than just yes or no." How could he make Sherlock understand?

"What are you getting at, John?"

"Damn it." The answer comes. "What if I wanted you to resist me? To say... no and stop but- but I made you, blackmailed you." John looks only to the ceiling, he should have left this until morning, until he could protect his inner thoughts. Why did that fantasy have to float to the surface, he had so many. He doesn't necessarily want to act it out, it's just an example. "You need to have control at all times, even if it's just pretend. _Especially_ if it's just pretend."

"I would have guessed you would have preferred it the other way around."

"Just 'cause I let you take me the other night doesn't mean I'm always in the mood for that. I'm not clear cut, I need different things." John's voice is weak, he doesn't know what to say. He's always let his mind indulge in fantasies ever since he hit puberty, his imagination running wild. Some were simple, some common, some... less so. 

"So I'm discovering. No wonder you've had so many failed relationships."

"Thanks." John snorts.

"Of course no one has been able to fulfil your needs, not wants, needs. They've all failed to keep you." Sherlock's mulling over the implications, his brain working slightly slower after coming but still a hundred times faster than most. John needs to stop him before he goes too far down some path John will most likely regret.

"Look, it's not about this or that fantasy and there's a lot of reasons I've not had many long term relationships so don't go thinking it's because I got bored of bedroom stuff because nothing is that simple."

"They just bored you in general."

"No."

"You lie because I didn't phrase that as a question."

"Can we..." John's losing control of this conversation. "I'm really fucking confused, I don't know what I want because I've never had anyone like you to... this is insane! You seriously trust me to not only know your limits but keep within mine too? You trust me that much?"

Sherlock rolls on his side and forcibly turns John's face to his. "Implicitly."

"I don't know if I trust myself."

"I have an adequate amount of trust for the two of us. Now shut up, we'll talk in the morning."

"Are you going to sleep here?"

"Am I welcome?"

"Yeah, of course, anytime."

"Then I'll sleep here."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... sex toys, dirty talk, rough sex, coming without being touched and come play. Think that's it!


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another chapter, a while in the works but it's ready now. Some **trigger warnings** (with some little spoilers). Take note: There's reference to childhood violence by a non-adult figure and insinuation of an inappropriate relationship of an older person and teenaged Sherlock (over 17) which remains vague but still requires a warning. It's not going to be a major feature of the fic if you want to skip this chapter or scroll down until you catch something about penises. It's more about them _choosing_ to share, rather than forcing each other.

John's woken by Sherlock clambering over him, completely stark naked, as he heads for the bathroom. The almost overwhelming smell of sex on Sherlock's skin drifting across leaves John happy and a little interested but too sore to do much about it. John's aching and exhausted so doesn't even bother to open his eyes, hoping to get another couple of hours sleep. 

"Agggh..." Comes a slightly over dramatic shout from the bathroom. Sherlock must have stubbed his toe or something. John silently chuckles to himself and rolls over to Sherlock's side of the bed so he can get in without climbing over him again. Well, not 'Sherlock's side of the bed' but the side of the bed Sherlock had been sleeping on. John's not sure how long Sherlock had been gone but eventually he returns and starts doing something with the window.

"What are you doing?" John just wants to sleep, he doesn't want to deal with Sherlock's whims right now.

"Photosensitivity."

"What?" That word was far too long and multi-syllabic for this time in the morning.

"A side effect."

"You mean-" John cracks open his eyes slightly - "Agggh, fuck." The pain in his eyes and head was searing. 

"I'm putting a blanket over the window. I've done it in the bathroom too should you need to relieve yourself. There's also a fresh glass of water by the bed."

"Thanks." John mutters sarcastically, waiting for the pain to subside. "It was fine earlier when I had a little clean up."

"What time?"

"I don't know, one am? You're a shit chemist by the way."

"Yes, yes, I'm terrible." Sherlock hardly cares as he makes sure the blanket is secure and then gets back into bed. John can tell he's facing him but it's too dark too see. Sherlock's feet touch John's, warming them up after walking around barefoot.

"Sleep, I'm tired and my head hurts like hell." 

"Where in the human body would you find the frontal lobe?"

"My arse." John mutters and then smiles. He can lie. It's a wonderful feeling, he'd never really thought about how important it was to do such a simple thing. He felt protected again. "Who sang Yellow Submarine?" 

"Ask me another." Sherlock mutters decidedly annoyed.

"Seriously, you've seriously never heard of The Beatles?"

"One was murdered, I don't need to know what they droned on about to tedious teenage girls. Ask me another."

"Um, what is the lightest element?"

"One of Anderson's brain cells."

"We're clear." There was little chance Sherlock was going to wait any longer than he has to so John waits for Sherlock to ask. The silence rolls on. "Go on then." 

"I'm thinking."

"About what?"

"Polar bears."

"Ha, I really wish that was true. If you're taking your time can I ask you something?" Something about laying here in complete darkness made the situation unique enough to try and take advantage. After all, Sherlock was going to eventually ask him something personal, might as well maintain some equilibrium in their friendship. As much as there ever could be when the man can read your face like he's been stalking you for a month.

"You can. I can't guarantee my honesty."

"Rather you just said 'no, I don't want to answer that'. No need to be funny about it, we're still friends." 

"Your question?"

"Your chemistry tutor."

"Yes?" 

John can feel the ice of his words. This was a no goer. "Never mind. Not important."

"You're concerned that I was under the age of consent."

"Yeah." That is pretty much the crux of the issue. That and how vulnerable Sherlock was at the time, regardless of his age. It must have been one of his first experiences. 

"Why?"

"Why am I concerned?"

"Yes."

"Because I've developed this nasty habit of caring about what happens to you." Practically from the moment he'd first heard Sherlock called a 'freak'. 

"Even when you didn't know of my existence?"

"Never said it was rational. You want to know about my scars, I got most of those before you knew me."

"Scientific curiosity only. I see them, I have a theory but I don't know for certain. They are particularly varied, not one method used to inflict them. Good for research."

John doesn't believe him, it was more than scientific curiosity. "Did he take advantage of you?"

"She. And no, I wasn't traumatised or abused, the... relationship we shared has long since been concluded. You have nothing to be concerned about."

"Good." John isn't entirely satisfied but he's known Sherlock long enough to know when he's gained all the ground he can. It's a subtle skill and there will be other chances if John feels the need. Sherlock has his methods and John has his.

"If I ask you about your scars will you tell me the truth?"

"Yes." If only so Sherlock doesn't leap to the obvious. He can tell the age of the scars, he must have seen that some of them have stretched indicating that they formed before puberty.

Sherlock shifts his position so he's propped up on one arm and much closer than before. John's reminded that they're both quite naked but somehow that's come to feel natural. Without body language, Sherlock's completely dependent on John's tone of voice, pattern of breathing and the slightest of movements. He's got his ears free, all his other senses heightened. It's probably useful to Sherlock; experimenting on how to read people even in pitch darkness. "John, how did you get the scars from your childhood?"

John doesn't hesitate. "Harry."

"You protected her from your father." 

It was the conclusion John was expecting and one he wants to correct. "No. Nothing like that, my parents were good people." As much as John is resolute that he's going to tell Sherlock the truth of his own free will, the words are still hard to say. The dark isn't helping as much as he thought it would, John would prefer to see how Sherlock reacts but he'll probably be stony faced regardless. "She... it was her. She had anger problems. Later medicated with alcohol, of course." Not that John needs to add that last bit.

"But your parents didn't stop her."

"They just assumed it was siblings fighting and not getting on, it's not their fault." His mother would cry and ask them why they couldn't be more like friends, why they couldn't be like the kids down the road. John took his punishment and tried to keep out of the way the next time Harry erupted but it was never that easy. She'd find him. "I didn't want to complain that I was getting beaten up by a girl and I was always told it was wrong to hit them. So I didn't. Most of the time." John sighs and rubs at his temples, the pain from the sunlight has dissipated but there's a slight ache as he thinks back. "It was just every now and then that she'd go off on one about something or another. Sometimes I knew it was coming if she'd had a falling out with a friend or a bad day at school but sometimes she'd just not like the look of my face. Wouldn't be the first to take a swing at my gorgeous good looks." John tries to joke but it doesn't come easily. "We're fine now, everything is resolved and she's even said sorry."

"The first time she tried to give up drinking."

"And the second, and the third. She stopped hitting me when I got bigger and stronger than her. I broke her nose one time, she always thought twice after that. I should have smacked her one earlier." Then she'd turned to hurtful words, spiteful rumours and lies when she'd fly into a rage. John had grown a thick skin, kept his head down, a gotten on with things. He had friends, a life, principles. She left home at seventeen and John had the happiest years of his life. "I've forgiven her. It's over. Done and dusted." Sherlock stays silent but for his heavier than usual breathing. Angry. "You ok?" John thought this would be a chance for Sherlock to read him but John could almost feel Sherlock calculating just how much fury he should be unleashing. 

"What did she do? I want to know everything." Sherlock's words simmered. If he was trying to control his anger it didn't seem like it would last much longer. Even the bed felt different, like every muscle in Sherlock's body was rigid. 

"I can't tell you everything. Look, you need to promise you're not going to do anything about this? There's nothing to fix."

"She should be punished." Sherlock says far too menacingly for comfort.

"She's a miserable alcoholic in masses of debt and a string of failed relationships in her wake. She's being punished."

"She doesn't deserve you. Cut her out."

"I barely see her anyway and it would upset my mum. It wasn't all bad, we had good times, we'd laugh and joke."

"Then she'd beat you to a pulp." Sherlock spits. "Tell me, explain the marks."

"If I tell you will you promise me no retribution?"

"Fine."

"No Mycroft either. No police, no homeless network, no secret contacts, no favours, no contact with her, nothing at all in any way, shape or form."

Sherlock huffs. "Fine." The pout was almost audible.

"You said I could trust you. I don't need protecting and if I want anything done you'll let me do it myself. You'd want it that way, wouldn't you?" John senses an opportunity. "Like the chemistry tutor. You took care of that yourself."

"She's in prison. In Thailand."

"You sent her to Thailand?"

"She was already there of her own volition. Her tastes grew younger over time."

Oh god. "You did it to protect them." 

"You think too well of me. I did it out of spite. She fooled me into thinking I was... never mind, doesn't matter."

John doesn't want to press, it would be cruel to drag the truth out of him. "Sher-" 

"Don't. It's taken care of and I'll do the same for you."

John's still reeling a little, fighting the urge to reach out and touch Sherlock, knowing it would be rejected as pity rather than comfort. Sherlock won't speak to him for a week if he tried to hug him. "It's my choice. You sorted yours and I've dealt with this my way. You wouldn't have wanted Mycroft interfering."

"No."

"You would have told him to piss off. I'm happier this way. Everyone is."

"Let me help." He offers as some sort of compromise. "A consulting avenger." 

John smiles and chuckles gently. "I don't need help but if I do, you'll be my first port of call for a master class in revenge." John won't ever call on Sherlock. He's put this behind him long ago. "There's probably a few ex's I'd suggest first."

"We'll start later." He's completely serious and already thinking up possibilities.

"I was joking, Sherlock." John sighs and makes a note to move his address book to somewhere more secure. The bottom of the Atlantic, perhaps.

"Ugh." Sherlock groans in an entirely over-the-top fashion. "You lack ambition, you let people get away with too much."

"And you're the worst offender. So, are you going to keep your promise not to do anything?"

"If I must."

"Then here." John fumbles in the dark for Sherlock's hand and brings it to the back of his head. John pushes Sherlock's fingers through his hair until he reaches a toughened ridge. Sherlock touches the length of the scar, learning everything he can from the small, elongated bump. "Set of car keys."

Sherlock lays back on his pillow just a couple of inches away and lets John guide his hand to his shoulder. This one couldn't be felt anymore but John knew it was there just below his BCG scar. "Pushed off a see-saw, I landed on a rock." 

"Bitch." Sherlock curses quietly but with venom.

"She was six." 

"She resented your birth."

"Doesn't everyone?" John sighs dramatically and even draws out a unwilling half-smile from Sherlock. He can't see it, but he knows it's there just from the way Sherlock's arm has relaxed slightly. John keeps moving, this time to a set of four marks just below his armpit. "Four scars, one fork." 

John goes to move on to the next but Sherlock resists, still feeling the barely indistinguishable change in texture. He rests his whole palm on John's rib cage as he strokes each one with his pad of his finger like Braille. "How old were you for this one?" 

"Ten." He knows exactly how old he was, it was his birthday. Sherlock says nothing. "Come on, a couple more and I'll let you touch the big one if you like." John generally doesn't like to touch or look at the gnarled knot below his collar bone, it doesn't feel a part of him. It's always felt like something he needs to get rid of, scrape off or cut out. It doesn't belong. "Sherlock-"

"I hate her."

"Well, thank you. I guess." At least Sherlock cares enough to hate on his behalf. "But it's ok. Just a waste of energy." John brings Sherlock's hand to his stomach. "Bite, just one tooth mark. She had a sharp corner after the one next to it fell out." A little lower still, on the edge of John's hip is a rough patch of skin. "Pushed me off my bike when I was just in my trunks, we were cycling through a sprinkler. Gravel burn, never really healed properly that one. Probably because I cleaned it myself. Everything else healed fine and my knee was in a worse state but this one never went." 

Sherlock brushes three fingers over the scar. "It was deep."

"Not really, I've seen worse that have healed better. That one was just meant to scar."

Sherlock's gentle and rather sensuous stroking of his hip is starting to make John stir and after everything they've discussed it doesn't quite seem appropriate to jump him or even think about jumping him. He can't help it though. Sherlock's thumb sits in the hollow of his hip, just resting while his fingers trace the edges of the ruffled scar. John tries to take a discreet deep breath but it's not possible, everything is heightened. John doesn't know if it's just him but as the silence drags on the tension in the air feels like it's fizzing and the mood's changed. Sherlock's hand feels far more possessive now, protective yet very arousing. He needs to move Sherlock's hand on to somewhere else but the three fingers stroking his hip suddenly grip and push him on to his back. 

"I want to make you forget everything." Sherlock straddles John on all fours and runs his hand up John's thigh to cup his balls. The change definitely _wasn't_ John's imagination. John finds Sherlock's arms and squeezes as he tries to keep from moaning too loud in the dark. It's something of an anchor in the dark, something to let him know what Sherlock might do next. "But I want something too."

"Anything, oh god-" The feeling of Sherlock's warm palm cupping his balls tight against his body is utterly heavenly.

"Call me names and I'll fellate you." Sherlock says with a strange authority before pulling at the skin of John's balls. 

John groans with absolute satisfaction, not caring how loud he sounds in the dark, that particular move is one of John's favourite things. He does it to himself when he's alone. He could let Sherlock do this all morning but the thought of getting Sherlock's mouth for the first time is far too enticing. "Yes." He spreads his legs so Sherlock can crouch between them. John knows better than to ask if Sherlock's sure about what he wants and happily obliges. "Suck me off then, you slut."

"Mmph." Sherlock wraps and hand around the base of his cock and takes the head into his mouth, sucking just the right tension to make the blood rush as he licks and flicks. John has been having a bad run with blow jobs, no one quite being good enough to make him lose his mind, but this is certainly feeling promising. 

"God, that's it, remember where my cock was last night, deep in your arse." John feels the vibrations from Sherlock's pleasured little hum and almost chokes on air. The darkness is making everything more acute, every sound, every touch. "Spread your knees, put your fucked little arse in the air, remember what a cockslut you are."

Sherlock's fingers dig into John's hips as Sherlock adjusts himself, pushing his bottom up and forcing a change in the angle of his head so he takes more of John. "Fuck, yes, bet you're fucking aching from the seeing I gave you. God you loved it." John can only wish he could see Sherlock present himself, to have a mirror behind him so he could see if he was still puffy and red from such a vigorous, hard fucking. The fact that Sherlock's doing it on John's command; that's what counts. 

Sherlock's submission is making John's cock throb even more as Sherlock sucks him down slow then faster. Sherlock's just building up, showing what he can do with that agile tongue and those lush lips but not too teasing either, the pace was enough to keep John from frustration. Sometimes a fast hard suck is what you need. "You're my plaything, a good slut." John echoes what Sherlock had whispered to himself that first time. Sherlock chokes a little trying to take too much and John loves that sound, the struggle to please. _"Fuck, yes."_

John starts to wonder how much he can get away with, lying there listening to the obscene sounds of Sherlock's mouth on his cock. "Suck it, suck it like it's the best thing you've ever had in your dirty little mouth." Sherlock's pace picks up again, sucking firmer and the explicit noises sounding more lurid still. _So wet._ "Touch my balls, don't get lazy, make it good for me." John commands and Sherlock duly touches him, tugging and touching, fingers slick with spit teasing behind to press, so eager to please. 

John wants to reward him, "God, you're a beautiful, brilliant whore, aaagghhh." Sherlock sucks him deep this time and swallows around his head. He's never felt anything so perfect, so utterly brilliant. "Gorgeous cocksucker, god, again, fucking again." Sherlock sinks down again, swallowing just right. "More, fuck." John tries to remain coherent but he puts his hand on Sherlock's head and pushes up into his mouth just to feel that delicious squeeze again and again. "Nnnughh, oh fuck, more, more. Take it, want to fuck your mouth, slut."

John can feel Sherlock's mouth open as consent and John starts to both push on Sherlock's head and push his cock up into the tight space of Sherlock's throat. "Oh fuck, you're brilliant, amazing, oh god, take it for me, Sherlock." John grits out. He's getting delirious now and it's Sherlock's name that's on the tip of his tongue as he gets close. No more names now. "Sherlock, can't believe..." The grip John has must be painful but he can't help himself. His cock sliding deep, overwhelmed with tight softness and heat. "Take it, take it." 

Sherlock has his elbows braced on the mattress and John reaches out with his one free hand to grasp Sherlock's slim wrist. "Sherlock, oh fuck, nearly, gonna come down your throat... _nuuugh._ " John holds Sherlock's head down on him, depriving him of air as he John pulses and comes, his head rising up off the pillow as he damn near shouts the house down. John can't quite believe it when Sherlock's tongue presses against the underside of his cock, feeling every thick twitch until he's empty and content. He lets Sherlock free as he lifts his head sharply, gasping for breath. Reality hits John square in the chest and not for the first time. "Fuck, you ok? You ok?" John's panicking, he lost control. "I'm sorry, fuck."

"Don't ruin it." Sherlock chokes out, throat sore and still out of breath. "I'm close, oh, so close." Sherlock's already got a hand on himself but John doesn't want that. 

"Wait." John tries to coordinate himself enough in the dark to grab Sherlock's arm and stop him.

"Are you quite mad?" Sherlock's rightly aghast.

"Lay down next to me, I'm going to get you off with my hand and talk to you until you come." John is sure this will go down as one of his worst hand jobs as his arm still feels like jelly but he has to do something after what Sherlock let him do.

"Yes. Be quick, need to come. Now." Sherlock's drops down heavily on the bed and John swears he can feel the heat radiating off Sherlock's cock in the dark. He's not slick enough so John gives his palm a quick lick before touching him properly, setting a quick pace to bring Sherlock back to the edge. "Ohhhh, that's it."

John's laid so he can whisper into Sherlock's ear. "One of the best fucking blow jobs of my life, Sherlock. I hate being teased but you knew not to fucking mess around and just suck me. Suck my balls next time, you can take your time with them, do it for hours. Want to fucking come with them in your mouth."

"Yes, oh..." Sherlock breathing heavy, his breath scented with John's come. Last night it was his own. Sherlock can't help but smell of sex. 

"Fuck yes. What I'd have given to see those lips of yours, they are made for sucking cock, god, bet there's hardly a bloke out there who hasn't pictured you on your knees with a mouthful of prick. If only to shut you up."

John can feel Sherlock nodding, his whole body squirming on the bed as John's not giving him enough anymore. "More." Sherlock asks but his plea goes ignored.

"I don't want you to shut up, no one knows what they've got with you, perfect arse for fucking and a brain to match."

"John." Sherlock cautions but his voice is breaking, sore and breathless.

"Shush, right now you're my fucking slut to do what I like with and if I want to fucking compliment you I will, Sherlock." John speeds up to cut off any snarky reply Sherlock might think up. John nips at his shoulder for good measure, licking to taste the salty sweat of his skin and male musk that only comes from sex. "Stop biting your lips, I want to hear you."

"Oh god, let me come, let me come."

"Ah, that's what you were holding back on me, greedy hussy you."

"Please, ahh, need it, John. Hurts, need you to make me." 

"God, I could almost get hard again hearing you talk like that." John pushes his cock against Sherlock's hip and finds he is already a bit hard. "Fucking hell." 

"Oh god let me come or..."

"Or what? You'll take over? No you won't because right now I own you, Sherlock. You're fucking mine and you'll come when I let you, if I let you. Understand, whore?"

"Yes, yes, yes. Come on!"

"God, I'm so fucking horny again, what the hell are you doing to me?" John almost slows to a halt, he's hard as a rock again and it's barely been five minutes. 

"JOHN!" Sherlock wails, thrusting his hips up in a futile attempt to fuck himself with John's fist. "Please!"

"Fuck, alright!" John gives up on making this last any longer, Sherlock's desperation defeating his attempt to truly take charge but maybe another time, maybe he can make Sherlock give up everything to him for one night. He quickens his pace until Sherlock's arching one side of his body off the bed and groaning. "Gorgeous, fucking come on me, you clever slut. I want to feel it, tasted so good last night." 

"Oh god, yes, yes... oh, god!" 

John feels the hot splashes on his stomach and almost loses his breath, it feels amazing, glorious, like coming again. "Fuck, gorgeous, wonderful, Sherlock." 

Sherlock slumps back with a whimper of spent happiness. "Side effect."

"Sorry, what?" John's not really paying attention, he's busy using Sherlock's come for lube as he touches himself at a near furious pace. He's already desperate to come again.

"Arousal. I expect our increased libidos this week have been an unintended side effect. I should have noticed earlier. Too busy masturbating."

"Don't... fucking... care right now." John's going for efficiency, his arm is already tired out from Sherlock. He's not on his own for long as Sherlock wraps himself around him and toys with his testicles. "Fuck, I-I don't even know if I can come so soon after the last one." But he needs to, badly. John's starting to understand why Sherlock was complaining that it hurt, god he needs to come. 

"Let's find out." Sherlock's hand joins John's, his thumb pushing the underside of his dick and rubbing slickly against his fraenulum.

This time they're quiet, apart from the sound of two hands on John's slippery hardness, as John writhes his way to another orgasm. "Oh god, Sherlock!"

"Let it come, John." 

"Oh fuck!" John breaks and his whole body is wracked with another powerful climax. "Sherlock, oh god." John almost sobs, his still twitching cock coating him. Just as powerful as the last one, he can't quite take it. 

"Shush, ride it out."

"Ah, fuck, fuck, fuck." John cries, the orgasm still shaking him until finally his body gives out, utterly boneless and bone tired. He wonders what he must look like, covered in semen and saliva, while struggling to get his breath back. A very happy and shagged out man probably. "What... the fuck."

Sherlock puts his fingers to John's pulse. "Your heart is racing but not dangerously so. You'll survive."

"Barely. God, that was... _wow._ "

"Sleep. I expect you might be 'up' again soon." Sherlock strokes a hand over John's oversensitive cock making him hiss and push him away when he doesn't stop. 

"Leave off. You mean I'm going to need to come again?" 

"You... ingested the serum. I believe that it's had a heightened effect. I expect I shall be ready again soon even from the dermal absorption." Sherlock's stopped trying touch John and feeling himself again. "Mmmm, not long."

"You are fucking kidding, right?"

"Don't worry, rest assured I shall take care of you for the duration." Sherlock's delight is evident as he kisses John, sucking on his bottom lip until it's swollen. "More fun than muscle cramps even if we have to stay in the dark." 

"Oh fucking, fucking hell." John doesn't know if he can take this. He's already come twice in the space of five minutes and Sherlock's stirring something else with that damn tongue of his.

"Try to sleep, you'll need your strength. I'm going to get some supplies."

"Supplies?"

"We potentially have a long day ahead of us and I don't want you to get bored." Sherlock emphasises the last word with a little smugness. John imagines Sherlock sees him as a challenge, to keep him amused with various sexual gymnastics. To prove himself better than everyone else. Sherlock's already more exciting than anyone else before they starting shagging. He's just a bit of an arse too. "How do you feel about anal beads?"

John's ready to tell Sherlock off for being ridiculous but... "Positively." He says cautiously. "Um, vibrating ones." He adds quietly.

"I'll bring them all."

"All?"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink list... the return of dirty talk name calling and some face-fucking (hmm, need a nicer word for that) but everything else is pretty usual, John's got such a testicle!kink ;) I've got a feeling I'll have a longer list next chapter...
> 
>  
> 
> Also... edited the song because apparently John's just as rubbish about music as Sherlock (read: I got roads and submarines mixed up)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Previously on The Trouble with Truth Serum...
> 
> John and Sherlock continue to ride out the arousing side effects of the Truth Serum with a a toy or two from Sherlock's many boxes of tricks. While the immediate physical effects are top of the agenda, revelations from the last twelve hours are still knocking around and crawling under a certain detective's skin.
> 
> This is the first thing I've posted after having a bit of a crisis of confidence. Time to get back on the horse and put some stuff out there!

Sherlock leaves John trying to snooze but it's unlikely he'll be able to sleep. The serum has had hours to metabolise and should be reaching its peak. Hopefully it won't last longer than two to three hours though John will be in need of relief for several hours after that, hopefully with longer breaks between each session. 

Blindly, Sherlock finds the bathroom and grabs a couple of damp flannels and some towels and leaves them with John before venturing downstairs. He makes a mental note to map the flat blind for future reference and for the sake of his shins and feet that he's crashing into stray objects and scuffing on uneven floorboards. He's certainly paying a penance for not clearing away the two bags of broken Bakelite phones he'd left in the hall four days ago but ignored in favour of more sexual pursuits. After a few more scrapes and foul curses he makes it to his room, thankfully with the curtains still drawn from the night before, and heads straight for the far side of his bed. 

Falling to his knees to pull out a box only reminds him of kneeling over John. Granted, he wasn't on the hard floor like he's been fantasising about but the moment John ordered him to expose his arse even though he'd gain no visual benefit proved how John could make any scenario better than fantasy. It had almost startled him, how such a simple order and the act itself had let him be consumed with the need to service John. To be used. Sherlock swallows hard and smiles as he feels the soreness of his throat, how John had almost been cruel in the way he'd handled him. John's not a cruel person though, there's always security in that fact. 

Sherlock lightly touches himself, gasping at his serum induced over sensitivity. It was likely enhancing their climaxes too, if the one at John's hand was anything to go by. It was certainly something Sherlock looked forward to testing on the highly dosed John upstairs. If only he could break John's habit of complimenting him it could be perfect. Sherlock didn't want to be anything when they were physical. Not clever, not beautiful, not himself. It was just a pleasurable bodily function, there's no need to bring the person into the equation and allow things to become messy and complicated. All that's required is friction and some filthy words to stop him thinking and able get off. 

"Ohhh." Sherlock fists himself quick, wanting to come on his knees on the floor. "Take it, take it." He whispers, remembering John's words as he fucked his mouth and gripped his hair so tight it made tears run down his cheeks. He was nothing in that moment, John's words drifted into his consciousness in pieces but right then, he was a lesser creature given over to baser desires. 

Suddenly Sherlock pulls his hand away, remembering John is upstairs waiting. It would be a shame to enjoy this without John. Sherlock half chuckles, he was probably wanking right now with no restraint. Sherlock refocuses on the task at hand, popping the lid of the box off and feeling inside. "Oh yes." He has the right box. There was no sense in only removing certain items, he'll take the whole thing. He slips in an extra bottle of lubricant from his bedside table and makes his way back upstairs. 

As much as he hopes to avoid thinking about John's revelation until he had a clear mind, thoughts of the young Watson siblings are pushing their way forward. The scars had stirred a fury he could hardly handle, a protective instinct to destroy anything that had marred John inside and out. How many injuries had vanished with healing and gone unknown to Sherlock? Knowledge of the scars' origins was meant to calm Sherlock, to complete the puzzle and confirm his suspicion of an abusive parent but it hadn't calmed him in the slightest. It had been Harry, a vicious little bully who deserved every misery she'd gotten, including the hatred of Sherlock Holmes. John didn't even think ill of his parents who hadn't prevented the attacks, apparently they were 'good people'. Sherlock could spit. Or worse.

John had made him promise to not interfere but he aches to break it. He feels like ripping her limb from limb with his bare hands, to expunge her memory from John's mind like she's never existed. He relaxes his hands that have become tight fists, his nails digging into his palms. If only he could delete the scars. 

Even the most mild of act of revenge is tempting. To make her frightened and fearful. He thinks about stealing an item or two from her home to make her fear for her security, it would be a smallest taste of her own medicine. Hardly enough for her to even mention it to her brother but still too great a risk considering John had threatened to leave before. _And meant it._ These new additions to his life of trust and truth are definitely putting a crimp in Sherlock's style. Both the voluntary and the involuntary acts. 

The less thought about his old tutor, the better. 

The serum has become too great of a complication and has made its last appearance. He'll destroy everything that's left. Probably. Sherlock's admission that he had wanted John 'always' had been something he'd not truly acknowledged himself. Somehow the serum had access to unconscious parts of his mind, even unknown truths could not be hidden. Sherlock will have to address that later and undo the damage if John's behaviour changes. Wanting something and realising that want was two very different things. For months he's successfully pushed down any twang of jealousy when John went out with a woman and the significantly larger twang when he brought them home. The serum overcame the denial but it wouldn't change anything. 

Sherlock couldn't risk John discovering anything more but it's still difficult to contemplate destroying the serum. Any future use must be either one-sided or not at all. Sherlock could surely fake honesty but then that 'trust' complication rears its ugly head once more and suddenly the decision isn't as clear cut. 

The serum had revealed some treats worth the cost of the odd personal revelation though Sherlock regretted not expanding his questioning much beyond the sexual. The serum has addled his mind with carnality, it was difficult to maintain focus. He never really had the best focus when being fucked, especially as well as John did it. 

The information he'd gathered about John's fantasies in the last twelve hours had once again surprised him. A man that both enjoyed to dominate and submit, to force and be forced, to be exposed and hidden. Sherlock had tended to every end of every possible spectrum. He has become accustomed to seeking men and women tailored to his most prominent whim depending on his mood but John was someone who could sate every part of him. Sherlock feels he can do the same in return with little compromise. There doesn't seem a limit to what they can do, even if John fights him along the way.

Sherlock approaches John's bedroom carefully, straining to listen to any activity John might indulging. Indeed Sherlock can hear John's heavy breathing and frenzied wanking. As delightful as it had been to let John take him and demean him with names the balance had to be redressed. They can't be allowed to fall into dominant and submissive roles, certainly neither of them would abide any status quo arrangement, and Sherlock had every intention of keeping the reins for this next session. 

"I've returned. You couldn't wait for me? I waited for you."

"Thank fuck! Sherlock, _god,_ do something!" 

"Oh, I'm quite happy just listening. Do moan my name when you come, you _always_ do." Sherlock hadn't heard him say it the same way twice. He was mentally cataloguing them.

"Fucking egotist." John groans in frustration. "Fuck, I can't fucking blow." 

Sherlock rolls his eyes, he'll have to teach John some eloquence at some point but he probably wouldn't sound like John. "Changed my mind, think I will join in." Sherlock drops the box by the bed with little care just to give John a hint of how much he's brought with him.

"Christ, throwing an Ann Summers party are we?" John jokes but the strain in his voice belies his humour.

"I have never bought any of the tat in there." Sherlock has of course bought an item or two, but he likes to maintain an air of snobbery when the occasion requires it and sitting between John's legs as he furiously masturbates was quite the occasion. "I'll be introducing you to the finer side of luxury sex aids."

"Don't fucking care what they are. God, just finger me or suck me, just do something, so, so close."

Sherlock had snuck a toy out of the box as he dropped it. He silently lubes the pebble shaped massager as he blows cold air over John's cock. The reaction was beautiful, a half howl of agony. Sherlock imagines John coming just from a breath but knows it will never happen. "In good time."

"Please, please. That's not going to be enough. I _need_ it."

In one fluid movement Sherlock hooks one of John's legs over his shoulder and pushes the other leg out before sliding the silicon massager tight up against his hole and flicks it on. 

"CHRIST! Oh fuck!" John tries to buck away and escape as Sherlock pushes it up behind his balls but Sherlock's grip on his leg is keeping him right where Sherlock wants him. 

"Move like you're riding it. I'm not taking it away until I hear you climax."

"Yes, fuck, fuck." John growls, now rutting himself against the device, his body getting used to the purring vibrations. "Sherlock, fucking genius!"

"Indeed I am." Sherlock closes his eyes to listen to John's ragged breath broken by mumbled blasphemy and encouragement and the sound of the sheets rustling as he writhes on the bed. Sherlock keeps the device moving, sliding and pushing like it wants to press inside but it's far too blunt. That doesn't stop John trying to spread himself wider, pushing himself on the device. "I'm going to decide how you come today. Every single time you climax it will be _my_ vision and _my_ decision, do you understand?"

"Yes, oh god." 

"Good." Sherlock quickly dips his head, sucking one of John's balls into his mouth and tongues it madly. 

John cries out and grabs Sherlock's hair brutally tight. "Sher-" The rest of Sherlock's name is lost to spasming silence before breaking into a elongated groaning exhale. "Fucking, ohh."

Sherlock lets John's testicle slip from his mouth, the act obscene but unseen. Sherlock's going to enjoy making John delirious but now Sherlock's pretty desperate to come himself. He throws John's leg down and straddles John's waist so he can rub against his come covered stomach. He towers over John, his chest level with John's face but he doesn't care for John's comfort. "Stay still, John." Sherlock orders as he finds an easy rhythm.

"Can't move even if I wanted to." John says blissfully as he grabs Sherlock's grinding arse to hold him tighter. "Fuck you smell fucking gorgeous."

"I smell like sweat and semen. Nnugh." Sherlock lets his dignity slip with a base grunt. 

John slides his hand between them and grabs Sherlock's cock; all the while licking at his chest and erect nipples. "Gorgeous."

This wouldn't do, John was dictating too much. "You'll be coming dry by the time I'm finished with you." Sherlock can already feel there was less than usual and resents that he can't take measurements. 

"Sounds like a challenge." They both smile but Sherlock's falls into slackness as John tightens his grip. "Fuck Sherlock, I'm getting hard again. Gimme the vibe thingy."

Sherlock fumbles for the massager that is still quietly humming by his knee and pushes it into John's hand who promptly slips it between Sherlock's arse cheeks. "Oh god." Sherlock had used it there before but never after such a rough encounter. He's still sensitive and swollen, the thrumming of the vibrator feeling different against still puffy skin. "Oh god, John." He's going at a canter now, thrusting his hips to fuck the hand so tight around him. He just needs a little more and now he finally has someone he trusts enough to do it without staying alert enough to make sure he wasn't going to be murdered. "Choke me."

"What?"

"Hand on my throat, squeeze it, come on!" Sherlock needs it soon, he can't hold himself back much longer. Granted, it isn't part of the master plan for the morning but he's overwhelmed with the sudden craving for John's hand on his throat. If he can make it an order, he can maintain his authority.

"No, I'm not going to choke you!" John chastises absolutely aghast.

"Just do it!"

"For gods sake!" John does something with his wrist that Sherlock can't quite comprehend before his whole body tenses. He wants to stop his orgasm in its tracks, furious that John has taken control when he'd set his terms quite clearly, but the creeping lassitude and joy is quelling his ire. The creeping afterglow has a bitter edge, he hadn't asked for much. Just a moment to give himself over. "There you go." John soothes. "Feel a little saner?"

"Bastard." Sherlock mutters, rolling to the side far enough away not to be touching.

"Yeah, I'm a right bastard for not wanting to crush your oesophagus and potentially cause serious damage, black out or even asphyxiation, the likelihood of which is substantially increased in absolute darkness!"

"Glad you agree." Sherlock replies in a sulk.

"You can't just spring something like that on someone, especially not in the heat of the moment."

"You'd just come, you were perfectly clear headed."

"And it's a good job too. I'm not choking you, Sherlock, not ever."

"Don't be a child. What about with a rope?"

"Jesus! That's even more dangerous! You're risking blood flow to your brain and frankly I'm not sure how much you've got in there right now!"

"Are you expecting me to fill in a health and safety form before we shag, John? I thought you were more interesting than that." Sherlock knows he's goading John, he knows that what he's asking for isn't risk free but if there are no limits to push what's the point of anything? 

"Maybe I should. For all I know you've just brought up a box filled with spiked dildos and fucking electric whisk!"

Sherlock reacts before John barely has a chance to move off the bed. He lays over him, not protecting John from his weight in the slightest, crushing him from his chest to his cock. John grunts from the air suddenly forced from his lungs but Sherlock doesn't ease up, leaving his mouth hovering barely millimetres from John's. "Stop being an idiot. I'm not letting you leave. Not now, not ever."

"I was going for the towel, you great lump. You might not have noticed but I'm covered in come."

"Ah." Sherlock eased his weight up a little but stayed where he was. He's not completely certain it isn't a bluff without John's expression to read. 

"Listen, I know you don't have an electric whisk." He concedes. "The spikes I'm not so sure about."

"No spikes. Not in that box anyway."

"Christ."

"I'm joking, John. Mostly." Sherlock smirks and he can feel John puff and breathy snigger. "Can we continue now? We're wasting time that could be used fulfilling your every sexual whim."

"Sounds better than giving you a bollocking. Do what you will, Mr Holmes, I'm sure I won't regret saying that."

"I'm in charge today, you will regret nothing."

"I'm sure I won't, just no choking or anything dangerous."

"Fine. We'll see about another time. Now shush. Settle." Sherlock silences John with a finger to his lips, holding him there for a good minute until they are both calm and steady. There will be no more debating. Sherlock settles himself more firmly over John's groin, letting his erection rub against Sherlock's still soft cock. "You're ready to go again." Sherlock whispers and dips his head, dragging his lips down John's cheek. He's not kissing, just feeling his stubble with his mouth. When he reaches John's jaw he travels upwards once more, his full bottom lip stuttering unevenly, allowing the wet inside to touch briefly before moving gently across John's cheek bone. 

"Not urgent." John lets slip a little sigh and relaxes, allowing Sherlock to keep touching his face with his lips only. Sherlock feels the power surge through his core as John acquiesces to his odd little eroticism. The power to touch and explore as he wishes, to unravel John piece by piece, to make him aware of every nerve in his body. 

"You're hard." Sherlock says against John's temple, gently rolling his hips but John only hums softly.

"Yeah, he's ready and able but I'm not willing yet." John brings his hands up to stroke Sherlock's back with just his fingertips. The sensation is heightened in the dark and the quiet focus he's using to touch John's face. John's touch feels like a low, uninterrupted flow of electricity, like his skin is confused between tickling and touch. "Feel like I've taken my body weight in Viagra."

"The joys of priapism." Sherlock drags his lips slow across John's salt sweetened brow, taking a moment to lick his pout clean before kissing John's closed eyelids.

"Feels calmer now, better, less, uh... overwrought. Mmm."

"Mmm." Sherlock agrees and moves lower, brushing his nose along John's until his lips find their target. John's mouth waits beneath Sherlock's; breathing in his air and letting Sherlock decide. Still Sherlock just brushes across, John leaving his mouth parted and ready. Back and forth he goes, lingering briefly but just focusing on how John feels, the change from stubble to smooth, firm yet thin lips, the tickle of John's steadily increasing breath, the slight twitch as he fights the urge to grab Sherlock and kiss.

"Sherlock." John hardly moves his mouth to say his name but it's clear as day.

"Hmm?" Sherlock's still over his mouth, breathing in time.

"I'm getting... it's more..."

Sherlock's arousal was becoming more insistent too, mentally as well as physically. He almost breathes his words into John. "Let me fill you." Sherlock can't restrain himself any longer and doesn't wait for a response, crushing his mouth to John's. Sherlock's lost in just _taking_ what he wants that he almost misses John scratching one word over and over across the small of his back.

_'Yes, Yes, Yes'._

"Oh, now." Sherlock pulls away and dives for the box, his arse unceremoniously in the air much like it had been earlier. Sherlock's taking too much time rooting through the box and takes a giggling smack to the behind from John's hand. "Do you mind?" Sherlock chides.

"Not at all, lovely little arse like yours just asks for it."

Sherlock smirks at John's salacious tone, obviously breeding a fresh fantasy. "Isn't it lucky that I know what your _lovely little arse_ is asking for."

"Yeah you do. Fuck, I'll take anything you've got." John sounds desperate already, far gone from the peace he found under Sherlock's mouth.

"I can't find... ah ha!" Neither of them can see what Sherlock is triumphantly holding but Sherlock knows exactly where he wants to start. He'd had this particular item in mind when he'd suggested using beads. "I don't need to worry about beginners toys, do I?" Sherlock jibes knowingly.

"Fuck off, since when do you ask obvious questions?"

"Since I like hearing you talk about your past experiences. It wasn't that long ago that I thought you were tediously dull in your bedroom activities. Now, spread your legs and leave your cock alone. If you don't I'll tie up your hands." Sherlock tests the bondage waters again, John was comfortable with being held down but being tied up in the dark was another matter.

"I'll be good." 

Definitely another matter. "I'm sure you will." Sherlock will explore that another time. Now he wants John stretched and full to the brim in every way possible, starting with this black coloured monstrosity he's holding. He lubricates the toy half way, he'll add more when needed. He doesn't bother applying any to John, he's still slicked from the pebble massager and Sherlock wants the first penetration to come from the blunt toy. He wants to _listen_. "Wider John, I know you're more flexible than this."

"God." John spread his legs wider, forcing his hips up and presenting to Sherlock his centre. "Glad the lights aren't on."

Sherlock knows that's a lie, he'd would love for Sherlock to see him like this. "Oh I know what you look like." Sherlock ran a clean palm down the inside of John's leg, stopping when he felt the coarse hair of his crotch to tease at it. "I can picture your thick, turgid erection, the drying come I didn't let you clean off your stomach and chest, my saliva dried on your scrotum, the lubricant over your pucker that's twitching for me. _Hungry_ for my attention." Sherlock can feel the minute shift in his leg muscles as John eagerly anticipates Sherlock's next move.

"Fuck, yes, you're so fucking right."

"I know." Sherlock presses the first smooth sphere against John's ring, pressing rhythmically until it starts to ease inside. He keeps two fingers braced against John's entrance, monitoring the stretch for his own filthy knowledge and to ensure John's body is still giving as it should. It helps him picture the sight of the globes disappearing inside.  
"Oh god." John's already reacting to the slightly larger than usual bead. "Jesus." 

Sherlock can picture him now, head tipped back and his jaw set, his mind wondering whether he'll really be able to take something he's never seen before. "This is only small, John. It will feel bigger because you're only feeling it right... here." Sherlock increases the pressure, forcing the object past John's tight resistance. "Then again, it might be larger than usual and I'm telling you what you want to hear. Of course, we both know they only get bigger." 

"I can take it. Oh, Christ!" John jerks as the first bead slips inside with a jolt, his hole giving up the fight and swallowing it up. 

Each sphere is attached to the next in a Thai style. Unlike many stiff beads, they don't have stems between each bead. Each one blends into the next, never letting up on the stretch. 

"Next one." Sherlock's in no mood to take this too slowly.

"Yes, oh god, fuck it feels huge already."

Sherlock pushes the toy through the widest point until John's ring comes to rest in the curve. Sherlock can't keep himself from touching, from rubbing his stretched opening. This is the only part of John he wants to touch, to see what it does to them both. "Two."

"Out of?" John's already a little breathless.

"We'll see." Sherlock smiles. "More." Sherlock barely waits for John to adjust, the next one bigger still, the increase more advanced than the average toy of this type. "Good John, push back against me." Sherlock feels his tense insides ease immediately. "That's it, perfect."

"Oh god, not too fast."

"You can do it."

"Fuck, yes." John almost sounds grateful.

Sherlock wants to push more, lay down more authority over him in his vulnerable state. "I'm not letting you come until you've taken them all."

"Bastard. Brilliant, brilliant bastard."

Sherlock wriggles it slightly, angling it to make a small circle inside. John gasps and grips the sheets, unsure of moving of his own accord. "I can feel you're so tight. Squeeze it, John. Squeeze down."

"Christ." John curses low and hard, panting through his teeth but Sherlock doesn't relent, pushing the next one inside before he has a chance to catch his breath. Sherlock feels the skin of his hole stretching tighter than ever against his fingers as it opens for the broad, round bead. John can only make desperate noises as he fights to accept the intrusion.

"Widest part, very good." John doesn't respond, grunting as his body hungrily sucks in another. "That's four." 

"Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock." John says on each breath. Nothing follows, just Sherlock's name. 

 

John waits, stretched wide between the bead inside him and the one to come. Sherlock adds a little more lubricant, knowing that the rest are a challenge to take, especially as the others push deeper. Sherlock knows from experience that the feeling of fullness is acute with this toy. "Describe the feeling in your cock, does it hurt?" Sherlock's uncertain whether John will need relief half way through, as a necessity rather than ill discipline.

"No. No, uh, fuck, feels like it's throbbing. Like it's heating up the room, like it's harder than ever before. God, touch me, I'll be hard again soon enough. Please?"

"No, you know the rules." Sherlock would have bent them but John gave the wrong answer. Sherlock has a sense John doesn't want Sherlock to break the rules either. "You come how I envision it and you will come with this fully inside you. This is only one of many ways I'm going to fill you up."

"Please, please, oh god." John begs.

"Relax." Sherlock commands before pushing on the toy again, this time with a small twist to help ease the next globe inside. "If only I had known when I used this on myself that I'd be using it on you one day."

"Fuck. T-tell me." John pants, his teeth gritted.

"As you please." Sherlock hoped John would ask and there's pleasure to be had in John trying to keep purposefully quiet to listen. The battle with his self restraint is as loud as a fire fight in this darkness. "The base of toy has an attachment, it can be fitted to other items in the range. My personal favourite to use with this..." Sherlock wants to time his words with John reaching the widest part. Slowly John is stretched wider and wider, the bead blunt, hard and unforgiving. "...is the spreader bar." Sherlock doesn't allow the bead to slip inside too quickly as John's ring seeks the trifling relief of the inner curve. 

"K-keep talking. Fuck, need you to. Fuck you're intense, aren't you?" John's words are half garbled with desperation and panting breath, not helped by Sherlock strumming the toy just enough to make his moans rumble. 

"Only when you're taking a bead for me. That's five."

"Evil. H-how many more?"

"Some." Sherlock shrugs, daring to tilt the toy just a fraction to test John's prostate. He arches and shouts out a craggy and broken noise of ecstatic distress. "You're stretched as wide as my own length now, decent I think you'll find."

"Fucking indecent." The strain in his voice is effecting Sherlock in ways he can barely articulate. Hearing John fight to speak with his heightened arousal breaking through every word, all because of Sherlock's made it so. Sherlock wriggles the toy again, catching John's prostate over and over to the point where John can barely inhale. "I can't, I can't. Please."

"You can, John, you are." Sherlock draws John's knee towards him and kisses it. "I'm in awe of you." 

"Y-you are?"

"The discipline, John. Your fingers must ache from gripping the sheet but you don't touch. You beg but don't disobey. You know I won't let you take control yet you trust me to push you further than anyone has ever dared. Take number six. Now."

"Yes." John brokenly replies. Sherlock takes it slower than before, listening to John's responses. "Spreader." John gasps.

"Ah yes." Sherlock drawls. "It's something I enjoy when I have the flat to myself for an evening. I attach this toy to the centre of the metal bar before tying the leather cuffs around my ankles. I take pleasure in leather more than other materials, durable yet forgiving if I'm to spend hours tied up."

"Fuck." John isn't even close to the widest point yet but Sherlock keeps going, letting John anchor himself to Sherlock's voice in the dark. 

"I kneel facing the headboard and brace myself against it. I lean back and take it inside. I tell myself not to touch until I've taken it all. The same rule I'm applying to you. It can be achieved."

"Yes, yes, oh god, it's so fucking big."

"You can do it. Number five is when it gets difficult, when it takes all my will not to pull away. I sit back on it, impaling myself until my thighs burn. Sometimes I take it too quickly and I make it hurt, sometimes I spend an hour preparing myself so I can sink back and let it fill me quickly. I sit down until I can feel the cold metal on my arse and I touch myself until I come. Once I came without a touch, just from wriggling like-" _the whore I am._ The words froze in his throat. "-like I'm going to tell you to do."

"God, yes, when, when?"

"Not yet, when it's fully seated inside you." John whimpers in a way that makes Sherlock smile quite fondly. It's almost a sarcastic retort but one that knows that Sherlock will get his own way. "You're at the widest point, feel that stretch? Your skin is so tight."

John only moans as he feels himself slide down the bead, taking another inside. "Can I watch you one day?"

"With the bar? Perhaps. Depends what I get in return."

"Think of something."

"I will." Sherlock licks John's knee, his whole body covered in a sheen of sweat. Sherlock feels like he's got some leverage now John's too far gone to deny him anything. "Mmm, breathing's boring." Sherlock mumbles into John's skin before increasing the pressure on the base of the toy once more. "Wonderful, John. Let me hear you." Sherlock can feel John's tension building. "Keep relaxed, bear down." Sherlock massages John's stretched rim to ease the beads passage.

"I am, Christ!" John's body accepts it slowly, wrapping around the largest point and back down again. John groans and shudders like he was just short of his climax. "Please tell me that was the last one?" John's voice shakes no matter how much he tries to keep it under control.

"Not quite." Sherlock takes a distinct pleasure in John's wanton groan of frustration and adds lubricant to the last bead. Typically there were ten but the gradient in this toy wouldn't tolerate ten. It didn't hurt to let John think that there may be more, it was clear he wasn't new to beads. He was certainly enjoying these, Sherlock can feel him quivering internally, his body caught between expelling the object and intense pleasure. "How do you feel?"

"On edge. C-can't stop... clenching. Feels so fucking _good._ " John tips his head from side to side, almost overwhelmed. "God, Sherlock, didn't think it could feel this good."

"Feel how it tapers inside, makes you want more, doesn't it? To feel that smallest bead go as deep as it can."

"Yes, god, please. Now. I'm aching, Sherlock."

"Number eight." Sherlock's voice abandons him, catching with dryness. Sherlock has been ignoring his own arousal for far too long but he can't waste a climax to his own hand. He didn't downstairs and he won't now. 

Sherlock rocks the toy until he can ease John to accept the final fat orb. John's digging his heels into the bed and Sherlock's sure the word 'stop' can't be far away. He's open wide now, dialated massively. "Shh, almost there." Sherlock can't believe what he's hearing, the fraught whines from the back of John's throat as he wills his body to take what Sherlock's pushing inside. Even in the dark Sherlock can 'see' John, his chest rising and falling rapidly, shoulders and arms tense and his body littered with scars. Sherlock can't edit, he sees it all in his mind's eye but at least now he can make John think of nothing but what Sherlock is controlling.

"Need to come, pleasepleaseplease." John speaks in one moaning word.

"Wait, wait, feel." The widest part breaches John and Sherlock resists the temptation to hold it there. Slowly John take it all, sliding down the other side and finding himself stretched around the thick stem of the base. "You have it all."

"Oh fuck, oh fuck, I'm, I'm-" John's pleading. Sherlock keeps a firm grip of the bottom of the toy as he gives John his reward for waiting. He sucks John's cock into his mouth and come floods his mouth in an instant. Sherlock waits as John's twitches, feeling out the end of his height of his climax before tugging on the toy, pulling the first bead out slow and then in one smooth movement he pulls the rippled object free.

"Ahhhh, Sherlock!" John's whole body leaps and shudders anew, overcome with glorious stimulation. Sherlock can feel John's cock jump against his tongue but for no extra taste as the dry orgasm wracks his body. "Oh god, fuck!" John sobs and shakes, hands grabbing at Sherlock's shoulders for dear life. Sherlock needs his own release now. He takes himself off John's still hard prick and moves to push his own cock easily inside his gaping hole. John's loose but certainly not beyond giving Sherlock the friction he desperately needs as he thrusts hard and fast. "Sherlock - can't, can't! Too much." 

It's already a moot point as Sherlock spills with a needy growl, forehead pressed against John's. "Too late. Apologies." He slumps over, resting his head on John's shoulder while he collects himself. Sherlock doesn't withdraw, choosing to stay inside and feel John contract and return to normal around him. 

"Y'alright?"

"My semen is flowing out of you." Sherlock's stuck vocalising the only thought in his head.

"I can feel. Poor sheets." John chuckles contentedly and strokes Sherlock sweaty hair off his forehead. "God, I thought you were going to try and make me come again when you got inside me."

"My stamina failed me." Sherlock laments. "How many did I give you?"

"I don't know, I was on fucking Jupiter. What did you do to me?" 

"Taking advantage of the serum. It seems your potential for orgasms has increased."

"I've always been pretty orgasmic." John boasts. "Fuck, I feel good right now. Absolutely spent. Couldn't get a stiffy if I tried. God it's bloody lovely."

Sherlock isn't feeling the same level of contentment. He feels the anxious need to wrap around John and sate his needs in a way beyond mindless fucking. It's a discomforting feeling, both too much and not enough. John's tender stroking of his hair is making his chest tight and need stronger. It's too much without the constant arousal to distract him. He longs for his next maddening erection to make it go away. "It won't stay like that for long, twenty minutes at most."

"Want to kiss until then?"

"Not 'suck face' or something similarly crude?" Sherlock falls back on instinct to push John away with words even if his body is unmoving.

"I happen to like the word 'kiss' and I like doing it after I come. It's sometimes nice when it doesn't lead anywhere."

"Except in this case it inevitably will." Both Sherlock and John wince as Sherlock cock leaves John's body. Sherlock's still not moving off John and the arms holding him.

"Doesn't mean we won't enjoy it. Aren't you usually the one blaming me for over analysing?"

Sherlock sighs deeply and buries his face into John's neck. There's an unexplained scar there too, old enough to be at Harry's hand. "Why do I care that she hurt you?" Anger he can understand, this sorrow is too much.

"Sorry?"

"Why am I laying here thinking about it and you're not?"

"Come on, kiss me. It's too dark in here, your mind is wandering off all over the shop."

It was becoming a habit to cure any discomforting thoughts with physical acts. John was only too good at blotting extraneous musing from his mind. "Agreed. Just one thing before we start." Sherlock leaned down into the box searching for cool metallic orbs. There would be no room for thinking. "Give me your hand." Sherlock found his hand in the dark and rested them in John's palm. They were quite heavy and felt extremely _present_ when inside. 

"Um, there's quite a lot."

"Two strings, one for you, and one for me. They're joined in the middle. So?"

"God yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Probably won't be the last we see of this particular box of tricks. There was one thing I found online that I definitely want to include in a future chapter but after this hit 6,500 words, I thought that was enough. You guys never _really_ have enough though, do you? ;)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I know it's an age between chapters but they do come along. This one was a personal challenge, I'll let you see what I set for myself. No warnings and the kinks are pretty mild (readers of this story are my lovely little kinky kinksters, this ain't nothing for you).

After the 'Morning of a Thousand Orgasms', as John likes to refer to it, they went off sex for a bit. It's understandable really, when the serum finally wore off they were left with the aftermath of friction burned cocks, aching arses and strained muscles. Not to mention a bath full of soiled anal beads. Creams and salves, heat packs and ice were applied to various muscles and a deep sleep was taken to the point where they couldn't have moved even if they were on fire. It took a good thirty-six hours for John to walk properly and for Sherlock to shake that smug look of pride every time John hobbled into a room. Even after their bodies had recovered neither of them had bothered to initiate anything. Maybe that was a side effect too but John certainly felt like he needed a break, he'd barely even mustered up morning wood. The sessions with Sherlock are intense and spectacular, but it's easy to lose control and let Sherlock take over to the point where John doesn't think he'll say no to anything. He needs to regain his equilibrium before even thinking about what his next move might be. And there would be a next move. 

It was good to have a little normality for a bit, to have discussions that weren't loaded or contrived with serum and sex. John still fights an underlying fear that their living arrangement might become untenable but it hasn't stopped Sherlock calling him an insufferable idiot or John purposely whistling cheerfully yet obnoxiously while making breakfast. There were changes but nothing that threatened their dynamic. It was the little things. Now John didn't worry when Sherlock burst in on him in the shower to discuss a possible case and was quite happy to rest his head on Sherlock's shoulder while watching the telly on a rainy Tuesday night. Their personal boundaries are breaking down more and more as the days and weeks pass, leading to a strange fragile unspoken intimacy.

John's worked steady hours in the last couple of weeks while Sherlock busied himself with private cases that only required John's help on a couple of occasions. The second time had been more interesting with John sent into a sandwich shop to start a fight just to see if the suspect disabled John with a certain martial art technique. It bloody hurt as his bad arm was twisted backwards but Sherlock was on the assailant like a shot with a clean punch to the solar plexus before Sherlock had him pinned on the floor. If John's shoulder hadn't been screaming with pain he might have found Sherlock's actions rather gallant but if anything he was slightly annoyed that Sherlock hadn't told him to punch with his right side and save himself the agony. Strangely, Sherlock hadn't argued with John's terse words, only nodded and offered to pop to Boots on the way home. Or score him some morphine from a bloke he knew in Brixton. Well, the thought was there. 

This evening John is intent on a quiet night on the sofa. John arrives home after a good day, has a luxuriously steamy shower and changes into some loose clothing to the sound of Sherlock's violin. He grabs a good book and sets a cup of tea on the side table before making himself comfortable on the sofa, stretching out on his back like a sunbathing puppy. Sherlock hasn't said a word to him, choosing to ignore him in favour of his instrument which he's playing rather delightfully. It doesn't bother John, he's quite happy to settle with his thriller in Sherlock's presence. 

John doesn't recognise the seemingly endless sonata he's playing, it moves effortlessly from mood to mood, possibly a mixture of classics, maybe even something Sherlock's performing uniquely, never to be heard again. Either way, it's undeniably beautiful and John finds himself content.

After a couple of chapters John stops reading the words and begins solely listening to the music instead. The song's building, soaring and flowing, eliciting a memory of John and Sherlock sprinting through Heathrow before a killer boarded his flight, knowing they were close and the puzzle had all been but solved. Adrenaline and joy, sweat and success. They tackled him in the duty free, sending a display of toblerones tumbling before he was able to lob a bottle of vodka at Sherlock's head. It had been one of John's favourite cases, full of double-crosses, double-bluffs and one double-agent.

The crescendo's building as John sets his book on his chest to watch Sherlock play. He stands with his eyes closed, letting his body move with the rhythm and the rapid movement of his bow as the song becomes quicker and more complex. It's a breathless pace but each finger and each stroke is perfect. John wonders what he might look like if he played naked, how much of his body was a part of the instrument too. How might his muscles move as his weight shifts from foot to foot, how his stomach muscles might curl and tense as he bends and straightens, how might his back muscles flex and strain. His thoughts aren't overly lustful but John licks his dry mouth as he imagines how Sherlock's soft prick might move too. It's a gentle curiosity, to see Sherlock bared and exposed as he plays privately, to be allowed to see him whenever John pleases. 

Sherlock's lost in the final throes of the song now, playing as if no one is watching but John can't tear his eyes away from Sherlock's intensely focused face, almost pained as he focuses on every triumphant note, his eyes closed tight with concentration as he fights for control of the song. John can't fathom what is going through Sherlock's head, all John can see are deft fingers on strings and delicate ones on the bow as he speeds up to an impossible rate. John's entranced, staring hard and amazed as the song bursts into vibrant colour then falls into slow sweetness, like the content walk home after a triumph. 

John rakes his eyes up Sherlock's body once more, upright but more relaxed now he's playing soft and easy. John's smiling warmly as Sherlock eyes open slowly but not sleepily, controlled and sharp. Sherlock almost looks shy for a brief flicker in time but John doesn't look away. He can't deny that he's taking pleasure in just watching, feeling like Sherlock is putting on a private performance just for him. Something special just between them. Sometimes it feels like they both exist in a world apart from reality, one with their own shorthand and secret meanings that only they understand. They operate in a different world, something above everyday banalities. John might only get to visit, but it's worth every sacrifice to work alongside him. 

Sherlock continues to play, allowing John to watch but returning his heavy gaze. Now John is feeling the weight of Sherlock's observation and the pace of his thoughts. John both adores and fears it when Sherlock drags his eyes slowly down John's body like he's moving through treacle. He only goes as far as John's hips as his eyebrow quirks and a sly smile creeps across his face. John looks down, he's hard. Very, very much so. 

Sherlock's hasn't moved, still playing like the gentle tune like it's programmed into his muscles and requires no thought. Sherlock's eventually meets John's eyes again, he's smirking and aloof, calculating his next dastardly move like predator deciding how to finish off his prey. Sherlock does love his plans and John can tell he's feeling the power of his position.

That certainly won't do. 

John slowly sets his book on the floor, not once taking his eyes away from Sherlock's. As much as John's trying to keep a placid expression he's hiding nothing in his eyes as his left hand creeps down his stomach and inches closer and closer to his tented jogging bottoms. Sherlock's resisting the urge to look, biding his time to see how far John's willing to take this on his own, not wanting to cede control. John smiles as he teasingly touches himself though his clothes and relishes the faint blush that blossoms across Sherlock's cheeks and neck. Sherlock song alters, more drawn out and sensual and John's body responds to that alone, a wave of heat and adrenaline rushing through his skin. 

John wants to maintain control, to be the one performing a private show for an audience of one. Sherlock stares as John licks his lips and pushes the heel of his palm against his cock, running it smoothly down the length and John lets him know just how good it feels. Nothing too over the top, but something raw and unedited as his eyes flutter and mouth opens airlessly. John gropes himself through the fabric, following his own instincts to squeeze and stroke. Sherlock skips a note when John slides his hand lower to cup and roll his balls. Sherlock's will has cracked, his eyes now firmly on John's fondling hand. 

The exhibitionist in John loves to show off, to be shameless as he moves between gratuitously playing with his cock and his balls but having to bite his lips hard not to rush. It isn't easy when Sherlock's observation and the music heightens every touch, making his body demand more and more and more. When John sees Sherlock beginning to calculate has to take things further, he can't lose the initiative. Sherlock could stride forward and take exactly what he wants but John won't let him. 

Without fanfare he pushes his free hand inside his underwear, still touching his balls from the outside. There's something more carnal and selfishly luxurious about using two hands on his privates, something that made John feel like Sherlock should be the one calling him names, chastising him for being such a greedy slut of a man. 

John strokes himself firm and lets his mouth fall open, groaning just loud enough to be heard over the erotic strains Sherlock's drawing from his violin. He's only letting Sherlock have his reaction and the movement of the fabric to inform him of what John's hand is doing. He's not going to give the game away yet, enjoying the perversion of working himself like he just can't help it. He let his mind wander for a moment, picturing him and Sherlock in a darkened doorway, the rain blotting out the sound as he shoves his hand down, desperate and needy to get off while Sherlock hungrily watches and encourages him on with words of poetic filth. John smiles and Sherlock looks curious, obviously aware that John's mind had wandered to somewhere that had made him tug on his balls as he focused on stroking the tip of his cock, a broken moan escaping between his lips. John's taking his time though, unhurried yet insatiable, exactly how he'd touch himself on a horny morning with no reason to get up. 

John begins to shift his hips, squirm a little and play up to Sherlock who's obviously enjoying being a voyeur. He makes an erotic sight, stood tall as he plays but an obscene erection tenting the front of his fine tailored trousers. The slim line of him is beautifully ruined and John feels the power of what he is able to do to composed Sherlock. He's flushed, breathing heavily and using all his will to keep himself those few feet away, to continue to write the score to the masturbatory scene before him. John feels possessed with the desire to be as gratuitous and explicit as he can, to drive him insane with the need to touch, to tempt him closer. John's laying down a challenge of discipline and squeezes his balls tight, gasping as his body convulses with a shock of pleasure. Sherlock whines, the pace of his song picking up in a bid for John to hurry to some form of conclusion. 

John's going to let him see soon enough but not yet, taking his time to groan and writhe, jerking fast and then slower, letting both of his hands work in unison to drive himself crazy. John's jolted as the music stops, Sherlock unzipping himself and pulling his cock through his underwear and zipper as a lewd offering before continuing to play again. Thick, red and pulsing, this filthy object poking out so perversely through his still buttoned up trousers. John's mouth waters just to see it, his mind back in that doorway, Sherlock showing his desire but not letting him touch. 

Sherlock can't be denied any longer, or perhaps John can't deny himself as he shoves his bottoms down below his knees and pulls his top up to his chest. His body is bared only where it needs to be. John grabs his cock in a tight fist but instead of reaching to tug at his balls, he wets a finger, draws his knees up and as wide apart as the sofa will allow and pushes the tip of his finger inside. John's eyes stay with Sherlock, the unspoken question of 'who's the slut now?' hanging thick in the air. Sherlock looks ready to fall apart, his song disintegrating into sharp sounds and quickening pace. 

John turns his head to the side to watch Sherlock who takes a couple of steps to change his view to stand at the bottom of the sofa, his eyes now on John's finger. John's panting as he works his finger deeper to finger himself, stroking fast at the same time. He's having to force his finger inside, the spit not enough but he wants it and won't ease up. John wants to come like this, fingering fucking and wanking like Sherlock's live-in whore who'll do anything for him. John's eyes are dark as they stare up at Sherlock, this is more for Sherlock than John's own release.

The violin has a companion now, John's own strains of ground out need and broken breaths. His body is moving to the duet, neck stretching out and hips flexing, not wanting this to end, to try and deny the climax for as long as he can. John has Sherlock as his inspiration as he fists himself closer and closer, Sherlock proud and shining prick bobbing frictionlessly in the air, throbbing and distended. A rich white pearl of liquid has beaded the top looking ready to boil if Sherlock leaves himself any longer but Sherlock's committed to the game, never one to be beaten.

Gasping and groaning, edging closer and closer John wriggles and clenches, Sherlock's tempo building faster and faster and John follows it, chases it, pressing his palm up tight against his balls. Slick, hot, tight and fast, the sound of skin on skin his accompaniment to their song. John wants to hide, to look away as he feels himself break but he lets Sherlock see all as he seizes and gasps, come splattering up his chest so warm and thick, his arse squeezing tight around his finger. John had tried to keep his eyes open but they were lost to shaking blankness, only able to experience his pulsing release but Sherlock eyes were watching, noticing, savouring.

John goes limp with a content smile but leaves his finger inside and his hand on his cock, gently rubbing his thumb across the tip for little flutters of post-orgasmic pleasure.

The music is gone and Sherlock is stood at his head, towering above him. The fierce grip to John's hair breaks his lassitude as Sherlock keeps him laid down. Sherlock's a monolithic vision of power and lust as he efficiently pulls at himself, his cock just inches from John's face. John feels like Sherlock's ready to devour and debase him, to punish and reward him for his whorish greed. The quiet feels odd now, allowing John to hear Sherlock's suppressed moans. John knows what Sherlock has in mind and lets his lips part. Sherlock's close as he grits his teeth and grips harder, his face contorts and John opens wide, Sherlock's release streaking his face, cheeks and across his tongue. Bitter and beautiful, John's missed the taste.

Sherlock collapses to the floor at John's side, resting his head on John's shoulder in a way that makes John feel especially affectionate. He wouldd stroke his sweaty hair but John's hands are decidedly unclean. Well, all of him is unclean. The silence feels as fitting as the music, nothing but the sound of their breathing returning to normal. Slowly Sherlock rouses, kissing John's shoulder and humming. It takes John a moment to realise it's the same tune he was playing when he first lay down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My challenge was no dialogue. It was bloody hard and I doubt I'll ever attempt it again because I love banter and dirty talk and dirty banter is the best ;) I know where my strengths lie but this was a fun experiment which I hope was a nice little John/Sherlock moment.
> 
> I've one more chapter completed that I keep tinkering with but I hope to upload it Monday next week (29/10/2012). Do harass me if I don't post. 
> 
> Kink for next chapter: Spanking (among others, I'm generous with my kinks)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's no wonder my updates are slow when I'm writing chapters that are over 5,000 words, the majority of them porn. Hell, I'd dread to think what a word cloud of this story might be. 
> 
> I really, really hope you like this chapter, I've been wanting to write it for so long, the 'Sherlock's name only' was one of the first kink scenes I came up with when I decided to make this a thing. Read!
> 
> Kinks at the bottom of the page but nothing squicky. This chapter does borrow from BDSM play but we are just visiting, we're not going down that road in this fic. Maybe another time!

John trudges his way from the Baker Street tube station wishing that with every step he could forget the god awful day he's just endured. It was one of those days where he'd made no difference at all. The beaten wife returned to her husband, the alcoholic who started on a bottle of cider in the car park, the diabetic who refused to manage his sugar and the twenty-year-old aspiring author who wasn't going to stop starving herself. As far as exercises in futility go, today must be in the top ten.

Nothing but a warm bath calls, maybe with some of the fancy bath oils he and Sherlock were gifted by an importer of luxurious goods last month. Then he'll climb into bed and not wake up until his stomach begs for breakfast. The day isn't going to be that easy to escape and John secretly hopes Sherlock can remedy that with incessant chatter about cases, murder and the ignorant masses in dire need of his genius. 

John lets himself in and idly shouts after Sherlock. There's no reply. John's shoulders slump in disappointment. He takes off his shoes and coat, only making the most perfunctory effort to put things in their place before heading for the kettle. He wants to sit down and relax but his body wants to twitch and pace, his mind doing much the same. He rubs his face to try and pull himself out of his mood but it just won't shake. Even standing still to pour boiling water into a teapot feels uncomfortable.

The bath is the only answer. Unfortunately, the blackish goo in the bottom of bath means that unless he's planning on doing some scrubbing, a shower is the only option. Cursing Sherlock's name, he takes a quick shower, turning the temperature up to just short of painful and filling the room with steam. After a thorough scrub and the heat reaching the core of his bones he's starting to feel right again. Planning on just grabbing his tea and retiring to bed, he slings on his dressing gown and heads downstairs. He regrets not taking the time to put on some socks when he reaches the kitchen but he doesn't plan on taking long. A quick check in the cupboards for crisps is quickly aborted when he senses he's no longer alone, a smell of familiar grooming products filling the air. He glances over his shoulder to find Sherlock leaning against the door frame in one of his nicest suits. One extra button is undone on his shirt and his intention is clear. He's got one of those dangerous looks of mischief in his eyes and that makes his appearance all the better. John can think of a dozen reasons why he should take the cup of tea and head to bed but Sherlock's presence is the only reason that matters. "Didn't think you were home."

Sherlock strides towards him, only taking three long steps before he has John pinned against the kitchen work surface. His hand strays immediately to John's crotch, palming and stroking him through the soft towelling of his robe. John's eyes roll back and he's gone, letting Sherlock take over and making no move to return the favour. 

"You are not to speak unless you say my name."

John's fuzzy vision refocuses for a moment. "Sherlock?" John asks, a multitude of questions implicit in his tone.

"Good, you remember it." He drawls but John hardly notices for what Sherlock's doing with his hand. "There will be consequences if you don't." Sherlock grins predatorily, his free hand sweeping up the side of John's neck to hold beneath his jaw while he still works John's cock to fullness. "Undress."

"What here?"

John finds himself pushed over the kitchen table as Sherlock grabs a wooden spoon from the draining board and thwacks John hard on the behind. 

"What the fuck!" John tries to struggle but Sherlock pins him with his forearm and spanks him again, this time on the other cheek and just as hard as before. John growls Sherlock's name but his body betrays his anger, the pain glowing and transforming into something that's fuelling his arousal. 

"Better." Sherlock stands him up but keeps John close by grabbing his arse. John's pushed back against the table which screeches across the floor until John's pinned again. "Each time you utter anything other than my name, you will be _spanked_ and I won't be kind. Understand?"

John looks puzzled, the stinging sensation fading away to a low pulse as Sherlock massages his stinging behind. He's been spanked before and he's quite enjoyed it, though never by a man. Certainly never by someone who was seemingly without boundaries. Still, John isn't walking away.

"You may nod though I'd prefer my name."

"Sherlock." John still has questions but he wants to see where this goes. He always wants to see where it goes.

"Good. Now, undress." Sherlock takes a step back and sits down at the kitchen table expectantly, his body language suggesting the arrogance of a king. "Don't look dumb, John, robe first."

John can't deny that he wants to continue and his hands slowly reach for his knotted belt. A slight smirk of triumph flits across Sherlock's features but John smothers a witticism. He's not going to invite another round with the spoon. 

He doesn't tease or make any theatre of his undress, choosing only to maintain constant eye contact as he undoes the knot. John feels like a colt needing to be tamed, to be broken, and Sherlock's the one person who he thinks can do it. He hasn't thought once about his day from the moment he saw Sherlock in the doorway.

Sherlock smiles as John's robe opens, revealing his lack of underwear. "In a rush were we? Or are your favourite, threadbare boxer shorts in the wash?" John says nothing, his response hidden in the lines around his eyes. "Off."

John does as instructed shrugging it off his shoulders and to the floor in a crumpled heap. The cool air is a shock after the warmth of the shower, his nipples tightening fast enough for John to feel it happen. Sherlock doesn't break his hold of John's gaze. The tension is palpable. Even in the cold John's almost fully hard and suspects Sherlock is almost there too.

"Don't touch yourself. I know that you're want to satiate your base desires with idle groping of your manhood whenever the opportunity arises, but tonight you obey." 

"Sherlock." John speaks his name with a certain attitude, emphasising every consonant. Sherlock appreciates the slight defiance but chooses instead to assert his dominance and control by palming himself through his clothing, this time taking in every inch of the man standing before him. 

Sherlock's observing him with an acuteness that John doesn't know how to fight. John shifts where he stands, all too aware he's completely nude and the kitchen isn't getting any warmer. He feels completely exposed but he hides his apprehension, letting himself be open to Sherlock's inspection. He knows he has a choice but he doesn't take it. John trusts that Sherlock's prepared to guide him through whatever is beginning to unfold and John's too curious to question his plan.

"Turn." Sherlock commands and John moves to show his arse. A slight feeling of embarrassment flutters in his stomach but disappears when Sherlock begins to speak. "Shame, I was expecting more considering the force I used on you. Of course you're bound to break my rule again, there will be a chance to mark you yet."

"Sherlock." John replies as if Sherlock is foolish to think it would be easy. John's tempted to break the rules but he's happy to play along and bide his time. Indulging Sherlock is always a dangerous game.

Sherlock rises from his chair and takes a position behind John, chilling John's cocky moment with his height and force of presence. With gentle grace, Sherlock lets his finger down the side of John's neck, shoulder and slowly down the length of his arm until goose bumps appear like a ripple of applause. John can't keep his eyes open as Sherlock continues to stroke him fleetingly with fingertips alone. The curve of his hip bone, the trapezium muscle over his shoulder blade, the length of his collar bone, the inside of his wrist. Sherlock's fingers even stray over a bruise on his forearm, pressing just enough to remind him that it still hurts. He lets Sherlock take over, controlling him and the night ahead. 

John stirs when he feels Sherlock's breath in his ear. "Come, I've prepared my bedroom. It's much warmer." 

John nods as he follows, reminded again that he is completely naked and Sherlock is fully clothed. John wants to undress him too, even if it's just to see him and not touch. John has every intention on stripping Sherlock nude but as he enters Sherlock's room his attention is caught immediately by the sight of the bed. "Sherlock?" 

Laying on the bed is a veritable smorgasbord of spanking implements. Whips, floggers, crops, paddles and a rather vicious looking cane in a variety of materials from leather to rubber, velvet to wood. John stares, his eyes travelling and his erection hard against his belly in response to the sheer variety of Sherlock's experimentation. 

Sherlock strolls to the bed, picking up one of the longest leather floggers, pulling its thin, black strands between his elegant fingers. "Impressive, yes?"

"Yeah." John replies only to find the flogger whipped sharp and fast across his chest. "Ah, Sherlock!" John takes another, Sherlock purposely aiming at his right nipple. John does nothing to protect himself, unconsciously understanding to keep his arms at his side as he revels in the nearly painful sting. It's hardly worth referring to as a punishment, the leather like a caress that's making his erection surge. John smiles, he's going to enjoy this. "Mmm, don't stop." 

Sherlock whips again and this time John hisses and gasps, his breath taken as Sherlock swipes twice at the underside of his cock. John wants to double over but instead looks up at the ceiling, clenching and unclenching his fists and hissing through his teeth. He's no less hard, he can feel where each strand lashed him, marking and streaking such private skin. It feels wrong, the risk of injury is high but the sheer thrill obliterates any rational thought.

"My name, and _only_ my name." His words drip with sexual menace.

"Sherlock." John bites back a curse and finds a little composure. "Sher-lock."

"Good." Sherlock takes John's jaw and brings it down to meet his eyes. John blinks away the wetness that was blurring his vision to stare at an intensely focused Sherlock. "I've had this in mind for you all week. It's been my obsession."

John nods though Sherlock still holds his chin. He's acutely aware of the leather fronds that Sherlock's dragging gently back and forth across his over-sensitive cock. What is was to be at the centre of Sherlock Holmes's obsession.

"I've dreamt of you bruised and reddened, eyes wet with tears, knuckles white, agonised pleasure on your face and you _thank_ me for it. You thank me and I mark you again because you broke my rule."

John can't shrink away from Sherlock's words, his mouth has gone dry and his knees feel weak. He says only what he's allowed, "Sherlock."

Sherlock smiles, it's not a soft smile. "You enjoyed most of what you saw but not the cane."

John nods. He'd had an experience he did not wish to repeat.

"No cane. I'm taking carte blanche on everything else to use as I wish." John has no argument but isn't given the chance to complain even if he wants to speak up. Sherlock brings the end of handle of the flogger to John's mouth. "Hold this." He feeds it into John's mouth and John bites down on the leather wrapping that encases the lengths of leather like a long dildo. "Good. Yes, very good." 

He should feel ridiculous with the tendrils hanging down in front of him like a horses tail but he stands obedient and hard, a lurid object for Sherlock to enjoy and do with as he pleases.

John watches as Sherlock picks up and examines various crops. Sherlock selects one, taking a moment to examine the leather tab and the flex in the shaft. Much of this seemingly for John's benefit as he touches it much like he had touched John downstairs. Light fingertips, a careful caress. John's eyes are transfixed as he rejects each crop and tries another, smacking them against his hand and whipping them through the air. John almost lets a moan escape when Sherlock raises one with a small, flat silver stud in it and runs it down John's cheek. 

"You're drooling."

John had been trying to swallow but it was an impossibility with the thick flogger in his mouth. He slurps loudly and earns a strike to the hip for his trouble. A grunt earns him a much sharper strike to his arse. John doesn't make a sound this time, instead choosing to close his eyes, letting the sharp sting turn into something more, something that washes away all thoughts but for his body and the man beside him. It's not pain as anyone might know it but it wasn't pure pleasure either. Complex and complicated, transforming within him, heat and ache.

Sherlock's standing at his side, his covered erection only millimetres from John's hand but John doesn't move to touch it without permission. The rules write themselves, John's making the game up as much as Sherlock. "What should you say?" John muffles Sherlock's name around the flogger as Sherlock sucks hard on John's earlobe, biting hard and trying to get him to disobey. "Discipline of a soldier, resistance of a Watson." It's half praise, half promise to try harder to break him. "Hands and knees. On the rug." Sherlock points with the crop to the sheep skin fleece on the floor. "Now." 

John does as he's told, thankful at least that his cock isn't so exposed to a whipping but he's still got the flogger in his mouth as a reminder of what Sherlock's willing to do. He adjusts his position thinking he's going to be on display for a while. The softness against his hands and knees in the warm room feels like it's going to be in sharp contrast to what's to come. 

Slowly Sherlock walks around him, stroking the tab of the crop across his back and shoulders, almost tickling down his sides. Sherlock taps lightly on the insides of his thighs, encouraging to spread his stance enough to expose himself more luridly. Yes, John is definitely on show.

"There's a fine line between pleasure and pain and I'm planning on finding where I can take yours." Sherlock muses aloud, knowing John can't meaningfully respond. "I won't break the skin. I'm skilled and well practiced enough to ensure it." 

John appreciates Sherlock's reassurance, he doesn't want to bleed for this. He nods but he can't stop himself from sucking loudly around the flogger. Sherlock doesn't hesitate to take three strikes on the fullest part of his behind, the room filling with the sound of leather on skin and Sherlock's name rasped out around the leather in John's mouth to control and release the hurt. 

"Oh, that's lovely, do keep making a noise, I haven't even begun yet." Sherlock's words seem all the more dangerous as he raps the cool stud against John's hole.  
John husks Sherlock's name, the safest alternative to the moan he wants to let out. Still, John pushes his arse out more, inviting the attention. 

"I think you'll soon be thankful for a full mouth." Sherlock kneels behind John and teases the tab of the crop against his balls, pushing them back and forth and toying them. John breathes heavily through his nose as Sherlock exploits John's body with the leather, his cock twitching untouched in thin air. 

John's tempted to ask for more when he realises he's being distracted from Sherlock's true aim. Sherlock's tongue licks his furled knot, a pointed flicking lick right across the centre of his centre. John lurches forward at the shock and Sherlock spanks him hard with an open hand across hip and arse. John hadn't noticed that he'd shouted but he must have to have gotten spanked. Sherlock returns to his task, licking and swirling his tongue, making John wet. John can't help the sounds erupting from his throat as much as he tries to turn each one into Sherlock's name. Sherlock punishes him each time, alternating hands until John's skin is singing. John drops his shoulders lower, giving Sherlock all the access he needs but Sherlock doesn't breach him, only lapping and teasing, leaving the occasional bite on the inside of John's arse. 

John wants to beg to be filled, the teasing is torturous and each smack of Sherlock's hand is building a fire that's heating his skin like a furnace. The pain makes his mouth wet and that only makes the noise worse. Sherlock gives each strike its own signature, letting his hand bounce or staying firm to heighten the blow, fingers open and closed, sharp or full, John doesn't know what's coming and he can't stay quiet.

John's at a loss when Sherlock pulls away, the crop striking sharper than ever on his hand prepared skin. Sherlock brings it down viciously, John crying out Sherlock's name but the grunt that follows earns him another. John gathers himself enough to stay quiet but his respite isn't for long when something slender begins to push inside him. He bites his lips, huffing air through his nose as it slips deeper, opening him up. It's not a finger, too hard and ridged. Sherlock forces it past any resistance until it's fully seated at least as deep as one of Sherlock's fingers and a little wider. It's not until Sherlock stands and admires his work that John realises what Sherlock has done. He was now on all fours, a flogger hanging from his mouth and a crop protruding from his arse.

John can barely look at Sherlock, the shame-laced excitement tearing through him. He's never allowed anyone to do anything like this before, nothing close, but still John waits for more. It hasn't crossed his mind to remove anything or even to say 'too much'. 

"Stunning, John Watson. What a sight you are making for me." John looks up wantonly at Sherlock who had finally begun to hastily undress. John realises he'd do anything to make Sherlock look at him like he is right now, wrecked and wanton. "Beautiful, pink, violated and filled by me, anything I wish to put inside you. Anything." His eyes dart from John's mouth to his behind and back again. Each clench of his arse around the small dildo makes the crop dance and wave in the air, much to Sherlock's apparent enjoyment. "Do you feel humiliated?" He asks with a tender stroke to John's hair.

John shakes his head. That isn't the right word for what he's feeling. It might be there, but it doesn't matter, he just wants Sherlock to be pleased. 

"Do you feel possessed? Owned?"

That feels to John like a better fit as he nods. He doesn't feel like himself, he's just Sherlock's tonight. Anything he wants.

Sherlock is soon naked and hard, touching himself languidly knowing that John is forced to neglect himself. He turns to the bed to collect a long strap, split like a snake's forked tongue before kneeling in front of John. "Open." Sherlock removes the flogger and gently wipes John's wet mouth with his thumb. Sherlock bends down to kiss him and John takes it greedily like a man who has not eaten in days. He opens his mouth to Sherlock, letting him keep control and satisfy whatever Sherlock needs. Sherlock licks him, the kiss more about tongues than lips, almost choking John in the process.

John is breathless by the time he's released and can only sigh one name. 

"Yes." Sherlock sighs back before presenting his next need. "Fellate me." 

John's mouth is wet as he sticks out his tongue to lick the crown of Sherlock's cock. The taste is sharp and familiar, one of Sherlock and not just of anatomy. Soon Sherlock forces the issue, sliding inside until John gags. John realises the ploy as the sting of the forked tongue sparks where he was glowing from Sherlock's hand. He can feel where the two pointed ends hit like electrified pins. 

Sherlock keeps pushing deep and another series comes thick and fast, each time the pain flourishing and turning into heat and need, making his mouth wet and cock throb. His arse, his back, his thighs, Sherlock doesn't differentiate. It's hypnotic and blissful as John turns the moans into Sherlock's name, the only word that exists to him. John barely has time to breathe, he can do nothing but worship at the man's cock and savour the heightening pain, caught between wanting to resist it and begging for more. 

"Enough." Sherlock pulls him back. "Look at me. What do you want?"

"Sherlock." John pleads his name and it seems to be exactly what Sherlock wants to hear as he takes his cock and hits it against John's cheek. "Sherlock." Is all John can say as Sherlock does it again. Anything Sherlock wants to do, he can.

"Beautiful. Stay where you are." Sherlock stands and rushes to the bed, grabbing a wooden paddle that makes John's eyes widen for a moment. "This is my favourite. Handcrafted oak. Leather comes close but this... this feels perfect in my hand." Sherlock licks his lips, mouth dry. "The sound, the way it's going to hit your skin as I prepare you. Reminds me of when I first experimented spanking myself with a flat-backed hairbrush."

"Sherlock." It's a demand to hurry. 

"Yes, I quite agree." Sherlock positions himself on his knees behind John and strums at the crop still proudly situated inside him. Nothing but Sherlock's name falls desperately from John's lips as his elbows threaten to buckle. 

"Oh I was sure you'd slip up then." Sherlock teases it back and forth. "Nothing?" 

"Sherlock." John gasps but his name is lost to a cry as Sherlock pulls the handle out fast and forces an 'oh god' from somewhere John doesn't control. Sherlock brings the crop down, striking him across his opening. John cries out, he can't help it, and gets another to match. John chokes on Sherlock's name, it hurts but even this is melting into goodness and rightness, pooling in the base of his cock as Sherlock takes a third and final strike. 

There's no time to let the pain settle as Sherlock forces two lubricant slick fingers inside. John braces himself for pain but if anything, he can feel the goodness of Sherlock's touch more than ever. It's a sensitivity like he's not experienced before. He's so tight and swollen yet he's giving easily to Sherlock's insistent penetration. 

"Ahsherlock." John mangles Sherlock's name and bites his lips together as Sherlock pulls his fingers free and wields the paddle expertly across both buttocks. John bucks forward but doesn't fall. He wants to growl as the most intense wave of joyous agony flows through him but another so soon would be too much. It's already edging towards too much pain. Sherlock let it bounce a little to take the edge off but John understands completely why this is Sherlock's favourite. 

John cries out Sherlock's name this time as fingers intrude once more, Sherlock knowing all too well that John can accept rough and hasty prepping. Sherlock isn't pushing too hard and fast now he has two fingers knuckle deep as he massages and moves to find- "Ah!" John's elbows buckle as Sherlock strokes across his most sensitive mound. "Sherlock, Sherlock."

John takes a hard downwards strike from the paddle, gritting out Sherlock's name in pain and sweet gratitude when Sherlock strokes sweeter fingers over his blossoming mark, confusing John's brain with pleasure and hurt. "Sherlock, Sher-" There's so much John wishes he could say but all he can do is plead with his tone, hoping that Sherlock understands that with every utterance of his name John is saying 'yes', 'more', 'don't stop', 'fuck me', 'please'. 

"Sherlock." John begs, pushing back on the two fingers that aren't enough despite the wonderful jolts from his prostate. He wants more. He _needs_ more. "Sherlock!" John's begging, pleading, his brain addled with a cocktail of endorphins and adrenaline. "Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock."

"Yes, I understand, you'll get what you want John, I assure you." Sherlock pushes in a third finger and yet more lubricant. "The heat of your skin, the colours, I've bruised you. Marked you. Branded you."

John whines Sherlock's name, needy and desperate. He hardly feels bruised, he's throbbing and so sensitive that slightest touch feels like heaven. Sherlock uses his free hand to touch and stroke where he's pink, letting John shiver and fist the soft fleece. 

"I can't wait any longer." Within moments Sherlock is pressing his cock into John for the first time unsheathed. "Oh my..." Sherlock's words disappear into a low animalistic rumble, pulling John's hips back as he pushes forward. "Alright?"

"Sherlock." John assures with his tone. "Nuugh!" John jolts as Sherlock thrusts in sharply, dissatisfied that John hadn't slipped up. John braces for the paddle but gets the flogger whipped sharp and beautiful across his sweat beaded back. "God yes!" John rebels as Sherlock laughs, taking the liberty to whip in any manner of his choosing for John's sole pleasure. The rule is broken now but John has only one name to say as Sherlock strikes him over and over. "Sherlock, Sherlock, Sherlock." 

John's chanting as Sherlock thrusts fast, firm and steady. Skin on skin, leather on skin and the pleading of an aching man.

John's lost now, his eyes closed tight as he accepts Sherlock's frantic thrusting and his constant whipping. John feels like nothing but skin and feeling, possessed yet cared for as Sherlock mutters compliments about the red marks criss-crossing his back like tribal symbols. John takes it, takes everything Sherlock is giving without question.

Sherlock reaches forward, dragging John by the shoulders to sit upright and impaled on his lap. John's arse can barely take the pressure due to the acute pain but Sherlock's hand on his cock and his own rutting is more than enough to push him over the edge. Sherlock holds him tight as he jerks through his climax, no air, no sight, no sense but the one name torn from his lungs. John knows nothing until the Sherlock bites hard on his shoulder, coming and pulsing while John insides still shimmer and quiver around him. 

"Good god." Sherlock tips them heavily to the side to lie down and John huffs a laugh, he couldn't have softened the landing for all the money in the world. They lie spooning as they catch their breaths and John feels no pain. 

John takes Sherlock's hand in his own and plants a kiss on the back. "Sherlock?"

"Hmmm?"

"Sherlock?"

"Yes?"

"Sherlock?"

"Oh, right. Yes, game's over, you can speak without consequence."

John sighs contentedly. "Not sure if I have anything to say now."

"Good. We can be quiet together." Sherlock wraps himself tighter around John, burying his nose in John's warm neck. John's just pleased to rest his arms and bask in the glow, even if they were still on the floor. "I didn't get to do half of what I imagined."

"Depending on how long it takes for me to sit down I might let you have another go." 

"I restocked my salves."

"Think I'll need it, Christ." John fidgets a little, the pain was starting to push through a little.

"I wouldn't like my good ideas to go to waste, I lost my way after putting the crop inside you. You quite scrambled my brain with lust in that moment."

"You looked it."

"I thought I remained outwardly composed." 

"Rubbish, you were ruined." Sherlock protests by poking John in the nose which only makes him chuckle softly. "Interesting to find out what else you had in mind. Next time perhaps?"

"Mmm, agreed." Sherlock seals the deal with a kiss to John's neck. "Any favoured implements?"

"Uh, your... uh, hand, actually." John can feel Sherlock smile behind him. He enjoyed the paddle too, not to mention the flogger but it was skin on skin that he loves the most. "I wouldn't mind having my own little play with you, I have ideas of my own, you know."

"That I don't doubt at all."

In the silence John slips into a daydream, thinking of nothing more tangible than a feeling of utter contentment. John's not sure how much time has passed before Sherlock starts to move. 

"Dinner or bed, Dr Watson? I'm not spending the night on the floor."

"Mmm, bed."

"Are you expecting to be carried?"

"Yep."

"I'll call Mrs Hudson shall I?"

"You arse. There's got to be a perk to being beaten black and blue."

"I believe the _perk_ is staining my sheepskin rug." John chuckles as much as he can in his sleepy state. "Come on, soldier, up you get." John finds himself achingly pulled to his feet. "John?"

John slumps into Sherlock, holding onto his shoulders to keep from falling. "Bloody hell, I feel drunk." 

"Indeed you look it. You should spend the night with me, you may feel unsettled when you come down from your stupor."

"Don't be stupid." John's may think Sherlock's being overbearing but he's not going to turn down access to the closest bed. Not with legs like jelly and a body that's undeniably sore. "I'm post-orgasm, not drugged." 

"Similar chemical responses." Sherlock pushes some of the spanking items aside and pulls the cover back, guiding John into bed. "From looking at you I expect what you're experiencing would sell for a couple of hundred quid in powdered form." Sherlock gathers up the remaining implements, putting them in a long box from under his bed. "I succeeded in heightening your pain threshold to extremely impressive levels, you took quite a thrashing due to my work." Sherlock dashes off to the bathroom for what John expects is a quick clean up. 

"Are you complimenting me or you?" John calls out before Sherlock's reaches the stairs.

"Me." Sherlock shouts back and John laughs to himself as Sherlock bounds up the stairs. The sheets are fresh and clean and John savours a moment of rubbing his face into the pillow. Something about tonight had made him feel extra tactile. Sherlock eventually swaggers back in, continuing the conversation as if there had been no break. "You contributed little other than your obedience and the ability to keep propped up. I owe a greater debt to the army forces who trained you."

John splutters for a second but can't think of anything decent with his brain still soft. "Bollocks!" 

"Your argument is solid, I concede, obviously."

"Shut up and get in. I'm getting cold and I fancy a snog." John reaches out for Sherlock's arm and drags him into bed despite his efforts to organise his collection. "Not in the mood to be obedient anymore." John grips Sherlock firm by the neck and pulls him in for a forceful kiss. Sherlock goes pliant until his hand strays past John's hip and pinches his arse. "Agh, you fucker!"

"I'm not in the mood to be obedient either." He grins. 

John bites a kiss to Sherlock's bottom lip, tugging until it pops free. "God, were you always like this?"

"Like what?"

"A fucking battle all the time."

"Since birth I expect. Would you have me any other way?"

"Tied spread eagled to the bed while I have the choice of your box of tricks would be one way."

"Yes, I rather expected you'd need to dominate me after this." 

"I rather expect you _want_ me to." John replies with confidence and the look from Sherlock suggests he's right. "Bet someone has gotten the better of you. Someone you tried desperately to impress just so they'd give you the time of day." John dips his head and nips Sherlock's neck. 

"Never." He rumbles. 

"Come on, do I have to _whip_ out the truth serum?"

"You wouldn't dare."

"Nah, but I'll let you play with my bruises as much as you like if you'll tell me. If I know you like I think I do, I bet you want to do all sorts to them. Touch them, lick them, bite-" John nips again, hard this time, "-them. So... what do you say, tell me some tales and I'll be obedient a little longer?"

"Yes."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Can you guess which bit actually made me blush when I wrote it? I swear it's like Sherlock really is the one coming up with these ideas, he's infected me with perversion. 
> 
> We'll be staying in this scene next chapter. Story time!
> 
> Also! Check out what one of the kinksters of this fic has been up to... http://www.wordle.net/show/wrdl/5939821/Trouble_With_Truth_Serum A Wordle (minus John and Sherlock's names) and daaaamn if it ain't the sexiest wordle I've ever seen! Snogandagrope is awesome :)
> 
> Kink list: _Spanking (lots), rimming (a little), humiliation (a little, mostly John just giving over himself to Sherlock to do as he pleases), control games, cock slapping (definitely going to explore that again, only tested the water)_


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So it's been a while but this isn't abandoned. As a recap, we left John and Sherlock completely spent after a heavy spanking session with the lovely, obedient John as the spankee. We catch up with them after John offered to give Sherlock free reign over his bruises in exchange for stories about crushes. 
> 
>  
> 
> Kinks at the bottom of the page but nothing heavy this chapter. 
> 
>  
> 
> With thanks to Lady_T_220 for the beta and a giggle.

Sherlock's still tired from his exertions but John's offer of free reign to explore his bruises in exchange for a few tales is too tempting to turn down. It would be easy to get John talking too, to uncover more secrets and learn more about what makes him tick. Sherlock had intended to explore John's marks and his responses under the guise of treating them but John indeed did know him well. If a little open honesty is the price to pay, then it will be more than worth it.

There's no rush for now, Sherlock's quite happy to be enjoying a protracted kiss, letting John's tongue lazily take control. John was right about another thing; Sherlock does want to be dominated now he's scratched this particular itch. Both of them seem to swing like a pendulum between extremes, or perhaps it's more about balance. Once one desire gets sated, another feels neglected. Not just one end to another, but multiple stems and desires that each need attending to. The craving for the next adventure, the next satisfying conquest becomes too hard to resist. Now Sherlock has John, a slave to those same needs. He'll let John decide how to dominate him, ceding control was part of the foreplay, and he trusted John to know what to do. That wouldn't be happening tonight though, not with John so visibly beaten and sore. 

Sherlock pulls himself a little closer, imagining that he can feel the heat radiating from each welt. John made the most beautiful canvas to colour. Sherlock had been honest when he'd told John he'd wanted to do this all week but he had hesitated at the thought of inflicting such pain. It wasn't so easy to let that part of him run wild since he'd learned the true nature of John's scars. John was confusing, he'd experienced malicious violence yet he responded to the pain in sexual situations. Sherlock had resolved to keep his desire to himself, to cause John no harm greater than the manhandling he'd given him before, but the previous night had changed his mind. 

It was a simple yet prolonged act that had done it. For just short of two hours he'd watched John poke and press a small, purple bruise on his forearm. John hardly knew what he was doing, but every now and then he'd push it hard enough to hurt, his face creasing ever so slightly as he'd rub the blemish.

_Prod, poke, press, poke, prod, press._

John had little idea that Sherlock spent the entire time aroused but denied, wanting to press harder than John dared, to make fresh ones in his own name. To make him groan with the sheer deliciousness of the ache. 

John's possessive kissing increases in intensity as his hand comes to rest around Sherlock's neck, his thumb sitting just below his Adam's apple. Sherlock's ready to command him to squeeze but John's hand is soon gone, stroking down his chest to rub teasingly over his nipple. Sherlock swallows his disappointment, one day it will happen, John's boundaries are already crumbling. It's only a matter of time.

"God, I just remembered where your mouth has been tonight. You're utterly filthy and brilliant."

"The former certainly appears to be the consensus among my lovers."

"Those who've survived the experience."

"Indeed." 

"Go on, tell me a story before we end up shagging each other silly again. Front or back?"

"Lie on your front. Hmm, though the marks on your chest are undeniably lovely, I'll begin with the starkest reminders of your submission." Sherlock traces a finger along a red line down John's chest and across his soft nipple. "It'll be a shame to cover you tomorrow."

"I can't be your naked sex slave."

"Can't you?"

"Prefer you as mine." John smiles and rolls over laying his head on folded arms. Sherlock takes a second to savour the sight of John so comfortable in his bed, the duvet covering him so only his head and arms are exposed. He looks so cosy, you'd hardly know what the man was capable of. Sherlock hasn't ever shared a bed like this before and certainly never his own. It doesn't feel wrong. 

Sherlock pulls down the covers to John's waist. The fast fading lash marks across John's back from the flogger are his first interest. He props his head up on his hand and traces the marks, trying to piece together distinct ones that belonged together but by the end he was whipping so freely it was hard to tell. The flogger was satisfying to use when out of control, it was almost impossible to do real harm even when using full strength. 

John's skin feels warm beneath his touch and Sherlock's ready to share. "So, you want to know about people I've had sexual relations with."

"No, it's not a question of sex. I'm asking whether you had a crush when you were growing up."

"A crush?"

"You know, someone you've just fallen for in a romantic way but it's almost innocent. You have feelings that go beyond friendship and it's like... you want to be close to them all the time. I'm not putting this very well but you must know what a crush is?"

Of course he does. "Give me an example."

"Well, I remember my first crush, Sarah Greene when she was on Blue Peter-"

"Boy. Tell me your first crush on a boy."

"Oh, um, well I suppose that would be my best friend Lee when I was eleven. We were in the same class and we were on the same rugby and cricket teams. He was always making me crack up, we were always laughing. We'd be round each other's houses constantly, our mums said we were attached at the hip and we often were, sitting close enough together we'd be touching. I didn't really think of it like that at the time but when I'd sleep over at his house I'd get out of my camp bed and in with him and it was the nicest feeling you could have at that age, you know. It wasn't sexual or anything, he was just everything to me."

"What happened?"

"He moved to Germany with his dad when he was fourteen. We didn't cuddle in bed at that point but we were always affectionate with each other. I always felt good around him, you know, we were always on the same side. He posted on my blog a few months back, he's married with four kids now." 

"And you still think of him."

"Yeah, but in a nice way. I don't spend my nights writing poetry and pining after him." Sherlock wonders if John's ever written poetry but puts the comment down to John's sense of humour. "Still, wish I'd gone in for a snog before he left but he probably would have never talked to me again."

"You were aware of your sexual leanings at fourteen?" Sherlock leans over and places his lips to a crisp mark clearly from the crop, a circle from the stud rising in sharp contrast.

"Ah, ah, ah, no more about me you tricky bugger. Now you."

"Fine." Sherlock would save his question for later. "Male or female?"

"Female first."

"Very well." That was the easier one to answer. "Her name was Michelle, she came to stay with her aunt during the summer holidays when I was fifteen and she was fourteen. She worked in the local newsagents. Tall, underweight, long jet black over one of her blue eyes and wearing a scowl that spoke of untold misery and hate. I was smitten."

"Ha, bet you were. So what happened?"

"I went in everyday to buy the cheapest thing I could so my pocket money would last. Most of my money I spent on my own projects and equipment so I didn't want to waste it on frivolous whims and sweets. I'd put the item in front of her, she'd tell me how much it cost and I'd silently give her the money before walking out."

"Quite the seduction."

"Yes, well I'd been sent exclusively to boys schools since I was five so my interactions with the opposite sex had been solely with nannies, family and school mistresses who I assure you were not suitable fodder for teenage lust."

"But Michelle was."

"She was angry and bitter about her parents' divorce and in my sullen eyes that made her exceptionally attractive."

"So, did you ever speak to her?"

"She caught me smoking in the church yard one night after dark. I thought she was actually going to tell me off when she asked for one."

"This isn't the story of how you lost your virginity is it?"

"Do redirect some blood to your brain, this is a story about an innocent crush, is it not?" 

"Do go on."

"I gave her a cigarette and lit it for her, still having not said a word. I was trying to rack my brain for something to say that would impress her so I could ask her to the pictures or something tediously normal when I said, 'the man in the grave you're standing on died of gonorrhoea.'"

John burst into barks of laughter. "Oh please tell me you really said that."

"Would I lie about something so hideously embarrassing? Would you like to know what she said in reply?"

"Oh take me now you quiet and mysterious stranger?"

_"Better than dying of boredom."_

"Wow, she was quite the influence. Were you tempted to propose?"

"Marriage is for fools and the dull. Anyway, we didn't speak again until we met the next night and then again each night until I returned to school. We'd say a few words, smoke and then she'd leave. The third time we met she asked me my name and if I was one of those posh tossers from the village. I told her the most common, run of the mill, dreary name I could think of." 

"Let me guess... John?" He replies with false weariness which charms Sherlock enough to grin.

"I was John Brown for the next month." Sherlock quietly smiles as he runs his finger down strings of red marks until he's stroking at the top of John's behind. "I bought her cigarettes, music tapes, food, I even stole one of my mother's silks scarves for her birthday. We'd talk about the most miserable topics we could think of, war, famine, death, disease. I'd walk the whole way home smiling, hardly able to wait to buy something from the shop the next morning."

"So, was she your first girlfriend?"

"To this day I'm not entirely sure. The night before I had to return to school she let me kiss her but I was appalling and she ended up telling me how to do it properly so I'd stop slobbering. I was too embarrassed to do much else, I hadn't even dared to hold her hand. I asked for her address so I could write but she never replied and she didn't return the next summer. I never saw her again." 

"Funny how you regret the things you don't do more than the things you do."

"Then I'm certainly not going to regret biting your behind after revealing that humiliation." Sherlock pulls the covers down and quickly marvels at his own colourful handiwork before forcing out a shout as he bites just firm enough to make John squirm and shriek.

"Ah! Fuck, Christ, stop!"

"Too much?" Sherlock grins, licking John, tasting purple, red and pink.

"Bloody hell, yes! Not much fun without a stiffy to make it good."

"Do you think you might be able to sustain another erection this evening?" Sherlock had noticed John's exhaustion when he first saw him in the kitchen. He knows he's lucky to have gotten as much as he has. 

"Another story and then maybe. It's been a long day and believe it or not, I bloody ache all over."

"Then I shall tend to your wounds, soldier." Sherlock grabs a large pot of aloe salve from by the bed and begins to gently rub. If anything, the ointment only enhances the colours more. "What this time?" Sherlock amuses himself with some gentle caresses. He maps the marks, the colours, the overlap, the variety, the pretty abuse he's stained into John's skin only to soothe it all away. It's going to be gorgeous to watch for the next week, maybe two. Maybe some of the worst ones will last three. "How about the first time I took myself in hand?"

"Rather watch a demonstration, mmm." John wriggles and makes himself extra comfortable, the type of man who can make himself at home anywhere. "Tell me about your first crush on a boy."

"Must I?"

"I'm not forcing you. You can choose something else as long as you keep touching me like this, god it feels so bloody amazing." John lets out a moan that sounds distinctly like a purr. "How about the first time you figured out that you're damn sexy and could have anyone you chose."

"Yes, well I figured out how to _make_ that happen. However, my first crush on a boy is no less of a disaster than my first crush on a girl."

"If it makes you feel any better, the first time I went down on a bloke I caught my teeth on his cock and cut him. Blood everywhere."

Sherlock hides his smile in favour of kissing a couple of red shapes he knows to be from his crop. "I feel a little better, do tell me more of your sexual failings."

"Too many to mention but you'll hear plenty in time. Hopefully you won't be on the end of one."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have choked you on my cock this evening. I could have been mortally wounded."

"Oh, I wouldn't go that far. I think it was worth it."

"So did you enjoy our evening? Having me control the very air in your lungs with my prick?" Sherlock blows a breeze over the ointment, making John clench through a shiver.

"I wasn't really thinking about breathing, more about keeping the noise down to your name. Fuck, you really know how to put your genius to use."

"Solving crimes isn't a worthy enough cause?"

"It's right up there, but I'm not complaining about being your experiment."

"I could _experiment_ on anyone. _You_ are more interesting than just anyone."

"Yeah, yeah, because I'm some sort of sexual deviant who gets bored if he shags the same way twice."

"So far we haven't."

"True, but you're wrong. I'm not that interesting. If anyone is going to get bored, it'll be you and I'll be the sad sack wanking on my own to some pretty brilliant memories."

"I guess we'll have to see who gets bored first." Sherlock expects John's itch for womanly curves and monogamy will curtail their adventures eventually. He doesn't wish to think about that any further so focuses on the body beneath his hand. Sherlock traces a fast growing welt before pressing it firmly enough to make John hiss. "You enjoy playing with your bruises. I've watched you."

"Yeah. Yeah I do." Sherlock spies the tell-tale lick of John's lips. "It's just a habit really."

"You just allowed me to strike you multiple times with multiple implements, your relationship with pain is far more complex than mere habit."

"So this is about me and Harry then." John almost sounds disappointed and Sherlock's not too sure why. "You want to understand why I'd let you do this to me. That's why you set all this up?"

"I can possess many motives at a time, one of them being my own desire to see you on all fours being spanked at my hand. Another being that you've endured other forms of pain and I want to understand why you'd consider allowing someone else to hurt you."

"Come here." John turned on his side and took Sherlock's hand to keep him focused. "We're dealing with two completely different things. For starters, you're not _really_ hurting me. Yes, it fucking smarts but you knew what you were doing. You were getting my brain completely fogged up with chemicals and hard enough to knock down buildings, it was amazing. You weren't angry, you weren't doing it because you _like_ seeing me in pain, you did it because you _like_ to see me enjoy it. You were looking after me in a weird way."

"I enjoyed your aroused anguish."

"The pain is different, it's good, it's just not comparable to being - well hit or stabbed or burned."

"Burned?" Sherlock's anger flares and again he regrets his promise not to destroy Harriet Watson. "She burned you?"

"It healed, don't throw a fit. Listen, I liked what we did and it felt good. End of."

"I understand the mechanics, John." Sherlock rolled his eyes, the chemistry was obvious. "I don't understand why _you_ seek out the pain after experiencing her cruelty."

"Like I told you, it's different. I like the intensity, I like that it blots out life until all you can do is feel and think about your body, the next blow and the potential shag to come. I needed it tonight, I needed not to think and to let you take control. I just wanted to be used by you tonight."

Sherlock ignored how aroused John's last comment made him feel and focused on his interrogation. "So you use it as a distraction."

"A bit. It's more - I _need_ it, Sherlock." John was getting exasperated but his patience won out. "Listen, the first time I figured I was into a bit of pain was when I was eighteen and I was with this girl, Lucy, for a few weeks. She loved to scratch me, bite me, talk dirty and hold me down when she rode me like she was going to do me a serious injury. It was terrifying but god she was sexy as hell and I loved seeing her let go like that. A couple of years later I met another girl, Zoe, she had a bit of a reputation for being kinky. She gave me my first proper spanking with a ping-pong bat over her parents table-tennis table."

"How romantic."

"I was looking for a fun shag, not Mrs Watson. Anyway, you're the first man I've let spank me."

"Really?"

"You're smiling. Knew you'd like that."

"I'm... bugger. Fine, I'm happy that you let me and I'm surprised that you've not experienced that with another male partner. You take it so well, I almost want to suggest having you submit to me daily. I could make you a happy little slave, even put a collar on you-"

"Fuck that bollocks!" John gives Sherlock's nipple a sharp pinch with a twist. "You're bloody lucky I was in the right mood tonight. I don't often go that far, that was a bit of a scene."

"Timing was important." Sherlock grumbles as he rubs his sore chest. "How foolish of me to think you'd settle for a routine. Even one I'd concocted."  
John grabs the pot of salve and rubs a little into Sherlock's nipple much to his appreciation. "A little BDSM is fine as long as it goes both ways. Maybe I'd even make you call me 'sir' one night."

 _"Oh yes, sir."_ Sherlock is almost breathy, holding eye contact and biting his lip in a shameless attempt to seem shy and deferent.

"Jesus." John takes a second to remember what he was saying and Sherlock savours a surge of power similar to when he first had John on his knees. "Um, yeah... I like going where the mood takes us. It's fun."

"And where does the mood take you now?"

"Your first crush on a boy." John rolls back over. "And do my thighs too, they are bloody throbbing."

"Ugh... fine." Sherlock kneels up and parts John's legs enough to find a few raw crop marks and the patches of purpling-redness from the paddle. Oh, and his hand if those finger marks indicate anything. Sherlock's body urges him to take more but instead he applies the ointment and massages it into John's skin. "It was a teacher. One of my science teachers."

"Go on."

"He was young, brilliant, commanding and utterly captivating. I became obsessed with him. He slept in the teacher's building, I'd spy on him, read the books he was reading, listen to his music, I'd steal clothes from his laundry basket. He was the first man I fantasised about, the first man I ever wanted to touch intimately. Not sexual, as such, just to touch."

"Was this before Michelle?"

"Yes."

"So you thought you were gay up until that point?"

"I didn't _think_ I was anything. He was different, it wasn't about him being male, Miles was-"

"Miles?"

"Yes, _Miles._ He was worthy of my attention, of my obsession. He was like no one else."

"So what happened?"

"The inevitable. The school hired a new music teacher, I saw them together, they were rutting like animals, not at all how I expected or imagined he'd be. I thought it was disgusting and I blamed her."

"Oh god you didn't-"

"Don't be dramatic. I tried to get her sacked, obviously, but Mycroft stopped me saying he had a better plan."

"And that was?"

"To betray me and have my crush sacked instead. Apparently that was 'better for me in the long run', the utter bastard. He stole my notebooks about him too. 'For my own good'." 

"He was right though, wasn't he? It was getting out of hand."

"It was a brief phase, I was unused to the experience of attraction and I would have got over it in my own time."

"Not until some horrible scheme that left something on fire, I bet."

"Needs must. Regardless, after three weeks of brooding and plotting to break Mycroft's arms I saw one of the older boys in the shower with a remarkably hairy chest when I was barely showing myself. Horrible boy but a suitable candidate for a few months of wet dreams."

"Thatta boy, bouncing back like a proper lad with a bit of rough. Shame I'm a bit sparse."

"I have no preference now, and once you've choked on a few hairs the novelty wears off."

John chuckles and it's a lovely sound. "I once shagged a bloke with barbells on the underside of his cock. I had a big thing for them for a while."

"Fraenum piercings." Sherlock ran his fingers to rub the insides of John's thighs. "I've had the pleasure."

"Good isn't it?"

"But I had to take it out. Itchy."

"You are kidding-" John twisted round so fast but found Sherlock smirking. "Fuck, that was kinda sexy for a second. Sod."

"I prefer my penis without bells and whistles." Sherlock applied more salve to John's hip where a particularly vicious bruise was growing in colour. "Would you ask me to pierce my manhood?" 

"Would you do it?"

"Unlikely."

"I don't think I'd enjoy the mandatory period of abstinence either." John winces as Sherlock massages the length of his back before letting out a content groan. "I wouldn't ask, not unless I thought you'd wanted me to ask, like I was giving you permission or something."

"Permission?"

"Agreement." John qualifies.

Sherlock feels like testing John a little, mixing a theory with Sherlock's own fleeting desires. "I'd perhaps be interested in a nipple piercing."

"God." John swallows hard and he looks ready to leap out of bed and drag him to the nearest shop. 

"Was that you giving me _permission?_ "

"That was a big yes. Could I watch?"

" _If_ I were to assent, I'd only let you do it."

John's whole expression darkens with a hunger that Sherlock hasn't yet seen he surges up and kisses Sherlock hard, a fist in Sherlock's hair to keep him from falling backwards as he desperately lets Sherlock know how much he wants this to happen. Sherlock curses himself for the whimper he makes as John plucks and teases at his right nipple, making his choice.

"John."

"I'll research it, we'll do it safe and right. We can do it here, in bed, naked, while you're hard, it'll feel so, so good. God Sherlock, it'll be amazing."

"I haven't said yes yet."

John pulls back, the lust-fuelled madness quelling somewhat. John shakes his head, no wonder he fears going too far when it's so easy for him to get carried away. "Right. Yes. You haven't. Sorry." 

"But I might." Sherlock kisses John softly along his jaw. "One day."

"God, just when I think you can't make me any crazier."

"Lay down again, I want to tell you more stories."

"Not sure if I want to hear about other people you've been with anymore. I might get jealous."

"Would you prefer it if I was a virgin?"

"God, you'd have been fun to corrupt. Once I'd lovingly deflowered you, of course."

"Interesting." Sherlock's mentally tallying up each revelation now.

"That I'd actually care to make a first time memorable and special?"

"That you see it as a duty, that you have a predetermined idea of how a first time should be done. It's... quaint."

"Quaint?"

"How many virgins have you _deflowered_ , John?"

"A few." John's force casual tone is enough for Sherlock to assume it's more than that. "How many have you?"

"I've never asked though a few have been so inept I'm sure they must have been near enough. Heaven forbid they were that awful with practice."

John snorted a laugh. "What about your first time?"

"Which one? First orgasm at someone else's initiative, first time oral penetration, vaginal penetration, anal-"

"Yes, yes, I know there are many virginities. Never mind."

"How about this story then." Sherlock moves his gently stroking fingers down John's back to slide and tease along the crack of John's bottom. He finger touches moistness and slides easily up and down. "How about the first time I had intercourse without using a prophylactic. At least that I can remember." 

"Me?" John goes to spread his legs wider but Sherlock pushes them closer together. He's not ready for more yet, happy to let his fingers slide in the hidden crease. 

"Indeed you. It was more... tactile than I had expected, the intensity of heat and smooth softness that went unappreciated through latex. It was quite the revelation, sinking into your body so completely." Sherlock lets his fingers slide deeper between John's cheeks only to find him wet and slick with Sherlock's come. The realisation makes Sherlock lose his breath for a brief moment. "Oh god." 

"Felt pretty good for me too." John squirms and reaches out to touch Sherlock's thigh. "This feels good too. God, don't stop."

"I won't." Sherlock strokes and slides, running the pads of his fingertips from John's swollen entrance to behind his balls. Sherlock grows harder. "You've experienced unprotected anal sex before."

"Yeah, I've had a couple of monogamous boyfriends but I haven't shagged anyone I don't trust without one." John rocks himself with Sherlock's movements now, just enough to find a rhythm. "You can do more. It's fine."

Sherlock ignores John's consent and keeps up his pace, changing the pressure along his perineum to see if Sherlock can draw more semen from him. There's a little, not much. "I had assumed you'd only be monogamous with women."

"Why?" John sounds a little breathless. "Sherlock, more please." 

Again, Sherlock ignores him. "Your dating patterns since I've known you suggest you dated women and fuck men. Once I discovered your sexual leanings, of course."

"Guess you're wrong again, dear." John pushes back and groans. "Now will you stop being a fucking cock tease and fucking do something perverted to me!"

"In good time, _dear_." Sherlock presses a little harder but with no increase of pace and no penetration. "I have to think of something suitable for someone extraordinary as you."

"I'm sure a slut like you can think of something." 

"It'll take more than a few names to weaken my will. I can have that whenever I please now. It's almost boring."

"Oh yeah?" John looks over his shoulder with a gleam in his eye. "If words won't do, then take a look at me."

John eases apart his legs and Sherlock can't help his own curiosity. "My god." Sherlock's jaw goes slack at the sight of creamy white fluid rising from inside John. "I've never..."

"Felt so good to feel you come inside me, I could feel you twitching, feel you spilling. Bet you want to feel that too, feel me coming so deep inside I might never leave you."

"I-I do." Sherlock gives into temptation, plunging two fingers through the glistening pool and pushing inside. John grips the sheets and pants through his teeth but he doesn't say stop. "Oh John..." Sherlock can feel his own semen, feel it rising up around his fingers, dripping down between John's legs. He slowly pumps his two fingers, curling them to draw more and more out then pushing it back inside. "Breathtaking."

"Sher-Sherlock."

"I've never witnessed anything like this... it's utterly beautiful." Sherlock swirls and dips his fingers, seeking every drop. "The evidence of what we did, your final submission to my desires."

"Keep going, tell me more."

"I've marked your skin and left my very being inside your body." Sherlock pushes in deep, twisting and fingering, John's skin swollen and tight yet forgiving. "Our DNA is mixing, I'm a part of you."

"Yeah, oh god." John grips the sheets tighter. "Easy, be gentle with me."

"Like a blushing virgin?"

"Like someone who's had their arsehole whipped with a studded crop."

"Cry baby."

"Sadist."

"You're made for it."

"We'll see who's made for what."

"Now that-" Sherlock pushes in deep to the knuckle with just enough force to make John grunt. "-sounds like a threat. A delightful, intriguing, arousing threat, but a _threat_ none the less." 

"We're just finding out more about each other and I bet-" John reaches round and gropes Sherlock's thigh, all the while Sherlock's wriggling deep and swirling the silky fluid. "I could show you sides of yourself you don't even know are there."

"All with the power of your sexual deviance."

"It _is_ pretty powerful." The cockiness is clear and proud. "But more because you trust me, Sherlock, and trust is a powerful thing in the right hands." John reaches back and strokes the Sherlock's arm, keeping Sherlock's fingers pressed inside. "Especially my hands."

"Should I be afraid?"

"Nah, you're brave enough."

"Show me then." Sherlock's hard and ready for more. With one swift move Sherlock flips John over, planning on riding him while soothing his bruised chest, telling more tales of a decidedly filthy nature but- "Ah."

"Sorry..." John's still soft. "Long day but we can still-"

"Why didn't you tell me to stop?" Sherlock doesn't understand why John would let him continue if he wasn't gaining any sexual satisfaction. 

"Felt nice." John shrugs as if it barely matters but it does. It matters to Sherlock. "Come on, let me-"

"No. No, I'm fine." Obligation and self-sacrifice isn't what Sherlock wants from John. The mutuality is what heightens the experience. "I want something else."

"Nothing too strenuous I hope."

Sherlock said nothing and coated his clean fingers in the aloe salve and applied it to the neglected bruises on John's chest. With a nod and no argument, John makes himself comfortable on his side, too sore to lay on his back. John tucks an arm under his pillow, looking content and comfortable, it's a familiar yet strange sight. Sherlock settles himself too, drawing the covers up over both of their shoulders so his ministrations take place in their own cocoon of warmth and security. It feels like something else is being rebalanced, something Sherlock has long neglected.

"Tell me about your first case as a consultant, was it with Lestrade?"

"I was a witness in a case..."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kink list: Comeplay, fingering, a little pain and discussion of intimate piercings

**Author's Note:**

> If you're interested in twitter alerts when I update I'm experimenting with a fanfiction twitter account. Find me at @CleoKat2010. Oh, I'm also taking requests for future kinks for the boys to indulge in so tweet or leave a comment if something strikes you!


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